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BARNABY    LEE 


^ 


"  A    SUDDEN   PUFF   Oi     i'HICK    WHITE   SMOKE  SPRANG  FKOM 
THE  vessel's  side." 


BARNABY  LEE 


BY 


JOHN   BENNETT 

AUTHOR  OF  "MASTER  SKYLARiC" 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
CLYDE   O.  DE  LAND 


NEW  YORK 

Z\)C  Centurp  Co, 


Copyright,  1900, 1901,  1902,  by 
The  Century  Co. 


Pvbliahed  October,  1908 


Printed  in   U.   S.  A. 


SRLf, 
URl. 

514094'o 


DeMcatfon 

As  8om6  small  return  for  steadfast  love,  unflagging  cour- 
age, and  faithful  and  informing  criticism,  which  have  ever 
been  unfailing  cheer  and  inspiration  to  my  endeavor:  to 
bring  again  to  memory  a  day  in  spring  spent  in  the  high- 
ways and  byways  of  Concord  village,  and  in  wayfaring 
upon  old  roads,  and  an  afternoon  worn  away  at  last  like 
the  wind  across  the  grass,  chatting  upon  a  shadowed  rock 
in  a  sunlit  summer  meadow:  in  enduring  remembrance  of 
brave  days  of  devoted  companionship :  an  inadequate  inter- 
change for  never-failing  confidence  in  trial,  wise  counsel 
in  doubt,  an  ever-increased  debt:  and  as  a  tribute  to 
a  good  comrade,  I  dedicate  this  volume  and  its  unfilled 
aspiration  to  the  loyal  sharer  of  the  vicissitudes  and  per- 
plezitiea  of  my  life,  my  sister,  Martha  Trimble  Bennett. 


CONTENTS 

CBAPTF^  FAOB 

I  The  English  Cabin-boy ,  3 

n  The  Three  Picaroons 11 

m  A  Startling  Cannon-shot »  21 

rV  How  John  King  Passed 28 

V  The  Man  from  Troublesome  Corner       ...  47 

VI  In  the  Wilderness 55 

Vn  In  Desperate  Straits •     •      •  63 

"VTII  A  Gentleman  in  Scarlet 69 

IX  The  Marshes  of  Pavonia 76 

X  A  Prisoner 89 

XI  A  Land  op  Dreams 99 

XII  The  Director-general jq7 

XIII  "A  SWORDER  AND  A  BraVO  " 115 

XIV  At  Wolfert  "Webber's  Tavern 121 

XV  For  the  Colony 127 

XVI  Wanted:  A  Reason 133 

XVII  Van  Sweringen's  Pretext 141 

XVin  In  the  Hands  op  Destiny 14q 

Xrx  In  Old  St.  Mary's  Town 152 

XX  "I  Will  Not  Have  Him  Here"       ....     159 

XXI  The  Governor  op  Maryland 166 

XXII  "I  Do  Not  Like  Cousin  Philip"      ....     174 

XXin  The  End  op  the  Embassy 182 

XXIV  In  the  Spring-house 192 

XXV  The  Duel  in  the  Fog 202 


viii  Contents 

CHAFTEB  PAGE 

XXVI  The  Fight  at  the  Landing-place   .      .      .     .212 

XXVII  After  the  Fight 223 

XXVIII  Dorothy  and  Barnabt 233 

XXIX  The  Eising  op  the  Mohegans 244 

XXX  New  Amsterdam  Besieged 251 

XXXI  The  Beleaguered  City 258 

XXXII  New  Peril 273 

XXXIII  The  Last  Days 281 

XXXIV  The  City  Falls 294 

XXXV  John  King  Turns  Up 297 

XXXVI  "  The  EoGUE  IS  My  Apprentice  "      ....     301 

XXXVII  In  the  Governor's  Court 305 

XXXVni  In  Sight  of  the  Gallows-tree 315 

XXXIX  Farewell,  John  King  ! 323 

XL  The  Euin  of  Van  Sweringen 327 

XLI  The  Governor  has  his  Joke 336 

XLII  What  had  Happened  in  Maryland        .      .      .     343 
XLIII  The  Governor  Sees,  at  Last        ....       358 

XLIV  In  Lordship  Lonely 369 

XLV  The  Strange  Eiders 376 

XLVI  The  End 383 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS    ^^ 

"A  StTDDEN  Puff  of  Thick  White  Smoke  Sprang  fbom  the 
Vessel's  Side" Frontispiece 

FACING    PAGE 

"'We  Shall  Soon  See  Whether  I'll  Pass  or  Not!    He 
Sau)"  18 

"The  English  Boy  had  Fallen  Face  Down  on  the  Sand"     92 

'"Quick!*  Cried  Van  Sweringen.    'Who  Art  Thou?'"  .     138 

"A  Hush  Fell  upon  the  Table.      The  Governor's  Smile 
Died  Out,  and  His  Laughing  Face  Grew  Grave"      .     178 

"Swiftly  and  Deftly  She  Bound  Up  XHk  ,\rm"      .      .      .  234 

'"Are  Ye  All  Stark  Dead  to  Honor?      Shame  on  You, 
Shame!'      He  Exclaimed" 260 

"'Now,  Master  Lee,'  Said  He,  'I've  a  Strange  Story  to 
Toi  You'" 324 


Barnaby  Lee 


Barnaby  Lee 


CHAPTER  I 


THE   ENGLISH    CABIN-BOY 


IT  was  the  year  1664,  and  the  day  was  the  1st  of  April 
according  to  the  reckoning  of  the  Julian  calendar. 

The  raw  shores  of  the  New  World  lay  stretched  along 
the  gray  Atlantic,  with  the  new  day  lying  half  awake 
upon  their  forested  hills. 

There  had  been  a  sea  change  in  the  night,  and  across 
the  low  white  sand-hills  of  Long  Island  the  south  wind 
blew  in  from  the  sea  with  a  tune  like  that  of  a  shepherd 's 
pipe ;  and  all  the  little  weathercocks  on  the  peaked  roofs 
of  New  Amsterdam,  when  they  heard  that  wind  in  their 
curly  tails,  as  it  hurried  over  the  ridge-poles,  turned  with 
a  shrill  and  coppery  creaking,  and  stared,  as  if  with  one 
accord,  across  the  bay. 

The  sentinel,  too,  in  his  coat  of  buff  leather  and  his 
morion  of  battered  steel,  who  stood  on  the  bastion  of  the 
fort  above  the  wash  of  the  rising  tide,  turned  like  the 
copper  weathercocks,  and,  with  one  hand  above  his  eyes, 
looked  steadfastly  away  over  the  shimmering  waves. 

For  out  of  the  south,  at  the  break  of  day,  rising 
sharply  through  the  shadows,  had  come  a  tilted  square  of 


Barnaby  Lee 


brown,  that  waxed  and  broadened  on  the  view,  grew 
near  and  clear,  until  it  stood  distinct,  advancing  steadily 
—the  topsail  of  an  incoming  ship  which  winged  a  course 
both  fast  and  free  before  the  breeze. 

Passing  the  stretches  of  Sandy  Hook  at  the  first  gleam 
of  dawn,  she  had  come  about  as  the  purple  headlands 
arose  before  her  in  the  west,  and  laid  her  course  north- 
ward through  the  bay  that  reached  away  before  her  bow. 

She  was  evidently  a  stranger,  and  unfamiliar  with  the 
channel,  for  in  the  horns  of  her  foretop  crosstrees  hung 
a  lookout,  shrewdly  watching  the  water  ahead  as  she 
drove  along  her  path.  He  was  a  yellow-skinned,  uncanny 
rogue  with  long  black  hair  tied  back  from  his  brow  in  a 
crimson  cloth,  and  with  silver  rings  like  crescent  moons 
seesawing  in  his  ears.  j 

From  time  to  time  he  shouted  to  the  helmsman  below 
as  they  went  driving  onward,  for  they  were  now  upon 
short  soundings,  and  the  dark  blue  of  the  deep  sea  had 
turned  to  yellow-green  and  gray  with  color  from  the 
shifting  sands. 

Yet,  though  a  stranger  to  the  course,  and  unacquainted 
with  the  bay,  the  strange  ship  spun  upon  her  keel  as  care- 
less as  a  school-boy's  top,  and  sped  away  as  if  her  seams 
were  calked  with  self-assurance. 

She  was  a  flute-ship,  short  and  broad,  with  bows  as 
bluff  as  a  walnut-hull,  a  high  forecastle,  towering  stern, 
and  a  swell  amidships  like  a  bowl.  Her  weather-beaten 
hulk  was  black;  her  high  poop  green,  with  lettering  of 
tarnished   gold  and  dingy  scrolls   along  her  quarters- 


I 


The  English  Cabin-boy  5 

Her  masts  were  made  of  southern  pine,  as  yellow  as  an 
orange,  and  all  her  canvas  was  old  and  brown,  except  a 
white,  new  jib.  At  her  mainmast-head  a  long  red  wind- 
jack  struggled  in  the  breeze. 

To  judge  from  her  general  careless  air,  the  vessel  was 
a  trading  coaster.  Her  well-worn  gangways  were  mud- 
tracked;  her  hatches  were  fouled  by  unstowed  freight; 
her  bulwarks  were  battered  and  scraped  and  banged; 
and  at  her  side  her  splintered  fenders,  carelessly  dang- 
ling, sloshed  along  through  the  yeasty  foam  like  the 
broken  wings  of  a  water-fowl.  Yet  there  was  in  her  look 
a  something  that  was  not  all  coast-trader ;  for,  though  her 
muddied  anchor-chains  betrayed  the  frequent  harbor, 
she  wore  in  her  easy-going  sweep  the  freedom  of  the  seas. 
Somehow  she  seemed  to  hail  direct  from  nowhere  in  par- 
ticular; or,  if  one  pleased  to  have  a  choice,  from  any- 
where at  all. 

Upon  her  forward  deck  was  geared  a  short  six-pounder 
cannon ;  on  her  poop  a  four-pound  saker  was  mounted  in 
a  swivel ;  and  in  the  waist  below  were  two  long  culverins 
of  brass  and  a  murdering-gun  mounted  amidships  so  as 
to  cover  both  her  gangways.  Even  in  those  troubled 
times,  when  honest  merchantmen  had  need  to  go  both 
armed  and  able  to  defend  their  own,  an  array  like  this 
was  not  the  hall-mark  of  peaceable  coast-trading. 

What  was  more,  she  was  heavily  over-manned.  She 
bad  in  her  full  thirty  men  besides  the  cook's  knave  and 
the  cabin-boy;  and  over-crewing  such  as  this  bespoke 
some  rash  adventure. 


6  Barnaby  Lee 

Whence  she  had  come  was  hard  to  tell ;  what  she  was, 
was  harder ;  and  what  her  errand  here  might  be,  was  an 
exceedingly  dubious  question. 

The  crew  had  all  been  piped  on  deck  at  the  first  red 
glimmer  of  the  dawn.  The  morning  watch,  in  dingy 
jackets  of  faded  red  and  green,  were  hauling  a  tattered 
tarpaulin  across  a  stack  of  merchandise  in  the  waist. 
The  cook's  knave  sat  on  a  coil  of  cable,  scraping  out  a 
pot.  The  cabin-boy  sat  on  the  lower  step  of  the  poop- 
deck  ladder  staring  out  at  the  shore,  with  his  hands 
clasped  about  his  knees. 

His  face  was  thin  and  his  cheeks  were  hollow,  although 
he  was  anything  but  starved.  There  are  in  the  world 
things  that  a  boy  may  crave  besides  merely  his  daily 
bread.  His  eyes  ran  hungrily  along  the  distant  shore, 
following  the  undulating  line  of  the  tree-tops,  out  of  the 
valleys  and  over  the  hills,  and  climbing  the  forested 
promontories  that  jutted  out  into  the  sea.  His  look  was 
at  once  both  wistful  and  yearning. 

"There  are  trees  there,"  he  said,  "and  dirt  and  stones, 
and  rocks  with  moss  on  'em,  and  green  brakes;  and 
water-brooks  and  sheep-walks,  and  burrows  for  the 
conies,  and  marshes  where  the  bitterns  be !  Ay,  there  's 
birds,  robin-redbreasts  and  throstles,  and  little  brown 
hens  that  lay  white  eggs.  There  's  apples  growing  in 
orchards;  and  strawberry-vines  in  the  meadows;  and 
hives  of  bees  in  plaited  straw  standing  under  the  hedge- 
rows ! ' ' 

His  voice  was  eager  and  trembling,  and  he  twisted  the 


The  English  Cabin-boy  7 

fingers  of  one  hand  in  the  fingers  of  the  other.  "And 
there  are  cows — brown-eyed  bossies,  and  girls  to  milk 
them  into  a  piggin.  Oh,  I  can  hear  them  singing  in  the 
twilight  by  the  byre ! ' ' 

As  he  spoke  a  far-off  melody  seemed  to  come  floating 
through  the  wind.  It  probably  was  nothing  more  than 
the  harp-like  humming  of  the  shrouds.  Yet,  as  he  heard 
it,  he  struck  his  hands  together  in  a  sort  of  ecstasy. 

"Ah,"  he  whispered  breathlessly,  "there!  They  are 
singing  now." 

The  mate  leaned  over  the  poop-deck  rail  with  an  angry 
scowl  on  his  ugly  face, 

"Bear  a  hand,  you  good-for-nothing  gromet!"  he  bel- 
lowed. ' '  Bear  a  hand,  there ;  do  ye  hear  ?  Lively,  now ! 
Don't  sulk  with  me:  I  '11  cat  your  back  to  fiddle- 
strings  ! ' ' 

The  cabin-boy  sprang  up  and  ran  across  the  deck, 
limping  a  little  as  he  ran. 

"If  ever  I  come  ashore  again!"  he  panted.  "Oh,  if 
ever  I  come  ashore  again ! ' ' 

A  sailor  kneeling  upon  the  deck,  hitching  the  end  of  a 
rope  around  a  cleat,  looked  up  from  the  corner  of  his 
squinting  eye, 

'  *  What  's  the  matter  with  you, ' '  he  said,  ' '  that  you  're 
so  wild  for  shore?  Hang  me,  there  's  too  many  shores 
a-fencing  the  sea.  If  it  had  n't  'a'  been  for  the  cursed 
shores  a-getting  in  my  way,  I  'd  'a'  been  in  China  long 
ago,  picking  up  pearls. ' ' 

' '  Like  enough, ' '  replied  the  cabin-boy,  as  if  he  had  not 


8  Barnaby  Lee 


heard  at  all,  or  had  not  cared  to  hear;  **but  it  's  been 
four  years  since  I  was  ashore,  and  that  is  a  long,  long 
time." 

"Long?"  laughed  the  sailor.  ''What?  four  year? 
Ye  don't  call  four  year  a  long  time?  Just  wait  till  ye 
come  to  hang  your  bones  on  Execution  Dock !  Four  year 
won't  seem  nigh  so  long." 

*  *  It  's  long  enough  for  me  now, ' '  cried  the  boy.  * '  Ay, 
long  enough  and  to  spare!" 

"Well,"  said  the  sailor,  carelessly,  "don't  fret  your 
ship  in  the  gale.  Stow  your  jib,  and  bide  your  time. 
Every  dog  shall  have  his  day.  By  George !  that  's  what 
I  say,  says  I:  Every  dog  shall  have  his  day." 

A  passionate  look  of  despair  crept  over  the  lad's  face. 
"Please  God,"  he  cried  out  bitterly,  "I  should  like  to 
have  mine  now ! ' ' 

The  sailor,  still  kneeling  on  the  deck,  looked  narrowly 
at  the  cabin-boy. 

"You  are  n't  just  right  in  the  head,  my  jo,"  said  he. 
"That  's  what  's  the  matter  with  you." 

And,  in  truth,  the  boy  was  a  melancholy  and  singular- 
looking  young  rogue.  His  eyes  were  black  and  his  cheeks 
discolored  by  some  cruel  blow.  His  hands  were  stained 
with  tar  and  paint,  but  his  sinewy  wrists  were  slender, 
and  where  his  gaudily  figured  shirt  lay  open  upon  his 
breast,  the  skin  showed  white  and  fair.  He  wore  no 
stockings,  although  it  was  quite  cold,  so  his  legs  below  the 
knee  were  bare ;  and  on  his  feet  he  wore  sandals  of  sail- 
cloth, bound  with  plaited  canvas  thongs.  A  sash  of 
faded  crimson  silk,  with  torn  gold  lace  upon  it,  was  awk- 


The  English  Cabin-boy  9 

wardly  knotted  around  his  waist,  and  through  it  was 
thrust  a  long,  straight  knife. 

He  was  slightly  built,  and  thin,  but  trim  and  straight 
as  an  arrow.  He  carried  his  head  with  a  graceful  air 
that  was  akin  to  pride,  and  his  eyes,  although  blackened, 
were  very  bright.  His  lips  were  firm,  and  in  their  cor- 
ners still  lingered  the  traces  of  a  boyish  smile.  He  might 
have  been  sixteen,  not  more,  but  his  face  looked  older. 
Its  expression  of  passionate  resolution  and  sadness  was 
old  beyond  his  years. 

The  sailors  ran  here  and  there  about  him,  but  he  little 
heeded  what  they  did  or  where  they  went.  He  stood 
an  alien  among  them.  He  did  not  seem  to  care.  An 
apathy  was  upon  him  in  which  nothing  seemed  to  matter 
much,  yet  he  whispered  to  himself,  "Four  years!  It  is 
a  long,  long  time ! ' '  and  turning  with  a  weary  sigh,  went 
limping  slowly  along  the  deck. 

The  sun  was  now  well  up.  The  shores  were  drawing 
nearer. 

To  starboard  stretched  a  broken  coast  of  sandy  rills  and 
marshy  islands,  glimmering  under  a  wooded  upland. 
To  leeward  sprang  a  steep,  bold  shore  of  frosty  hills  and 
valleys,  checkered  here  and  there  by  bare  brown  fields 
and  little  clearings.  The  forests  came  down  to  the  edge 
of  the  water,  their  borders  purpled  with  wild  raspberry 
thickets;  in  the  leafless  boughs  of  the  gnurly  oaks  along 
the  stony  slope  the  ancient  grape-vines  hung  like  ropes 
upon  a  frigate's  masts.  Along  the  broad,  white,  sandy 
beach  under  the  edge  of  the  purple  wood,  on  a  sudden 
a  herd  of  deer  went  bounding  straight  through  the  deep 


lO  Barnaby  Lee 


of  a  reedy  marsh  whose  waters  splashed  in  a  silver  rain 
around  them. 

The  cabin-boy  limped  forward,  staring  out  across  the 
rail,  and  rubbing  his  numb  wrists.  His  hands  were 
blue  with  the  cold. 

He  longed  to  be  ashore.  He  hated  the  ship  beneath 
him.  The  sea,  which  seemed  a  fairyland  to  many  a  lad 
on  shore,  to  him  was  a  world  of  grief  and  trouble,  from 
which  he  was  weary  to  be  free.  Its  enchantment  was  a 
lie.  He  hated  the  long,  green,  slanting  waves  which 
foamed  and  rolled  behind  them.  For  four  long  years 
he  had  sailed  the  New  World's  coast  and  never  set  foot 
ashore;  his  world  was  become  but  a  wandering  ship, 
whose  pent  space  of  lurching  decks  and  swinging  masts 
were  his  only  hillside  fields  and  groves.  Mauled  by  the 
captain  and  the  mate,  by  turns  or  by  both  together,  as 
they  chanced  to  be  in  drink,  the  butt  of  the  sailors,  help- 
less and  alone,  what  wonder  that  his  heart  yearned  for 
the  touch  of  the  brown  earth,  where  trees  may  grow, 
flowers  bloom,  birds  build  nests  and  men  have  fixed 
abodes  ? 

"God  never  made  the  sea  a  home  for  anything  but 
fish,"  he  said,  and  raised  his  thin  hand  to  his  face  with 
a  despairing  gesture.  The  crosstrees  swayed;  the  dark 
yards  stretched  out  black  and  gaunt  against  the  sky. 
The  dangling  ropes  seemed  like  a  tangled  snare  around 
him. 

"Oh,  daddy,"  he  said,  "why  did  ye  never  come 
hackV 


CHAPTER  II 


THE   THREE   PICAROONS 


ON  the  flute-ship's  towering  poop -deck  the  captain 
stood,  leaning  against  the  rail.  His  restless  eyes 
loamed  among  the  sails.  He  was  a  tall  man,  swarthy, 
with  a  frame  inclining  to  spareness,  and  bore  himself 
in  a  headstrong,  domineering  way  that  marked  him  a 
leader  among  his  kind.  He  was  dressed  in  an  ordinary 
sailor's  garb,  of  stuff  neither  better  nor  worse  than  that 
worn  by  the  commonest  seaman.  Nothing  marked  him 
for  a  chief  but  his  masterful  demeanor.  His  nose  was 
hooked  like  a  parrot's  beak;  his  look  combined  both 
shrewdness  and  daring;  but  his  eyes  and  the  narrow 
mouth  under  his  nose  were  not  only  false,  but  were  vil- 
lainous too.  Beside  him,  standing  by  the  rail,  were  the 
sailing-master  and  the  mate.  The  latter  was  a  bull- 
necked  scoundrel  with  a  voice  as  hoarse  as  an  iron  horn. 
He  wore  a  sailor's  turban  made  of  a  yellow  handker- 
chief, from  under  which  his  short  black  hair  hung  curl- 
ing in  oily  rings  along  his  sunburnt  forehead. 

The  sailing-master  would  have  been  a  hard  man  to 
match— six  feet  tall,  long  of  leg,  brawny-shouldered, 
deep-chested.    His  stubbly  red  hair  and  bristling  beard 

II 


12  Barnaby  Lee 


made  his  brown  face  look  like  an  old  reaped  field  in 
which  lay  two  gray,  quiet  pools,  and  across  which  his 
broad  mouth  drew  a  crimson  furrow.  His  great  shoulders 
stretched  his  old  jacket  of  green;  his  belt  was  as  broad 
as  a  horse's  girth;  in  it  were  thrust  two  daggers  with 
Brazil  stones  in  their  hilts.  With  one  of  these  daggers 
he  wrought  and  fought;  the  other  he  kept  for  company. 
As  he  stood  there  on  the  poop-deck,  beside  the  weather- 
rail,  his  long  legs  planted  wide  apart,  his  huge  red  hands 
carelessly  forked  across  his  hips,  he  looked  as  if  a  hogs- 
head of  sugar  might  have  been  bowled  at  him  in  vain. 

The  sailors  as  they  hurried  about  were  hoarsely  chant- 
ing a  wild  song  which  the  cook  led  from  the  galley-door 
in  a  most  distressing  voice : 

"  I  never  sunk  an  English  ship, 

But  Turk  and  King  of  Spain ; 
Likewise  the  blackguard  Dutchmen 

I  met  upon  the  main. 
Go  tell  the  King  of  England, 

Go  tell  him  this  from  me : 
If  he  reigns  king  of  all  the  land, 

I  will  reign  king  at  sea ! " 

*  *  By  glory,  I  will,  or  my  name  is  not  King ! ' '  said  the 
captain,  turning  to  the  sailing-master  with  a  sparkle  in 
his  eye. 

"All  right,"  said  the  sailing-master.  "I  never  said 
ye  would  n't.  Be  as  may  he  's  all  I  said.  Cock-sure  's 
a  pretty  bird.  But  they  stopped  the  San  Beninio,  and 
they  made  a  pack  of  monkeys  of  Will  Trevor  and  his 
crew, ' ' 


The  Three  Picaroons  i  3 

"Hang  Will  Trevor  and  his  crew!"  said  the  captain. 
"Is  the  Ragged  Staff  a  mussel-boat  like  the  San  Beniniof 
Why,  blight  me  green,  man,  you  talk  as  if  you  were 
af eard  of  a  web-footed  Dutchman ! ' ' 

"All  right,"  rejoined  the  sailing-master,  steadily. 
"Suppose  I  be  afeard?  You  ought  to  know.  I  ha' 
sailed  with  ye.  I  think  I  ha'  mostly  took  my  own  part. 
I  be  no  swine  fcr  fighting,  nor  am  I  eager  for  bloody 
death ;  a  common  bunk  at  fourscore  is  good  enough  for 
me.  But  that  's  not  what  I  'm  driving  at.  Will  they 
stop  us,  do  ye  think?" 

"Stop  us?  Stop  who?  Me— John  King?  Oh,  yes; 
I  'm  a  pig  in  a  country  lane,  that  any  addled  loon  can 
stop.  I  've  come  here  after  a  load  of  stops !  That  crew 
looks  ripe  for  stoppage;  now,  don't  it?  Blight  me 
green ! ' ' 

Leaning  back  against  the  rail,  the  captain  swept  a 
keen  glance  forward. 

On  the  forecastle,  where  the  wind  came  down  from  the 
foresail,  the  crew  were  gathered  in  a  group.  Some 
played  a  game  on  the  deck  with  a  pack  of  greasy  cards. 
The  others,  standing,  beat  their  arms  across  their  brawny 
chests,  and  growled  like  surly  dogs  together.  Most  of 
them  wore  knitted  shirts  and  jackets  of  crimson  cloth, 
with  gaudy  handkerchiefs  loosely  knotted  around  their 
necks.  Their  faces  were  tanned  to  the  color  of  leather, 
and  their  arms  were  blue  with  tattooing.  Some  wore 
pistols  in  their  belts,  and  all  had  sheath-knives  at  their 
breasts.    Their  teeth  shone  through  their  beards  as  they 


14  Barnaby  Lee 

talked,  and  they  looked  far  more  like  a  pack  of  wolves 
than  like  a  good  ship's  crew. 

"If  they  try  to  stop  me,"  quoth  John  King,  "they 
will  catch  a  hurricane  by  the  tail." 

"All  right,"  replied  the  sailing-master.  "Don't  ye 
argufy  with  me.  I  be  no  hand  at  an  argument.  I  ships 
to  sail  a  boat.  Be  as  may  be,  I  takes  my  own  part,  and 
shares  the  upshot  wi'  the  rest;  but  I  ha'  seen  'em  as 
smart  as  you,  John,  rattling  like  dry  sheepskins  on  the 
wrong  end  of  a  rope.  These  Dutch  traders  may  be  web- 
footed,  but,  mark  what  I  say,  they  can  swim  to  a 
purpose. ' ' 

"Let  'em  swim!"  said  the  captain,  with  a  gesture  of 
contempt,  and  turning  with  an  angry  face,  he  fell  to  con- 
ning the  sails.  Then  suddenly  he  turned  again  to  where 
the  sailing-master  stood,  and,  smiting  the  rail  with  his 
clenched  fist,  he  cried  out  wrathfully,  "Will  ye  just  look 
at  that  young  jack-fool?    What  has  got  into  him  now?'* 

The  sailing-master  turned  and  looked.  Half-way  up  to 
the  main-crosstrees,  the  cabin-boy  clung  in  the  larboard 
shrouds,  staring  out  at  the  passing  shore  as  if  he  were 
fascinated. 

"Od  sling  me!  Look  at  his  face!"  said  the  mate. 
"I  see  a  man  look  that  way  once,  and  again  I  heard  he 
run  mad  and  died. ' ' 

"Died?"  cried  King.  "There  's  no  such  luck.  The 
knave  would  n  't  die  to  please  ye. ' ' 

"Well,  he  's  fay,"  said  the  mate,  "that  's  what  he  is; 
so  what  luck  can  ye  look  for  ?    'T  is  ill  luck  carrying  folk 


The  Three  Picaroons  1 5 

that  be  fay  aboard  of  any  ship.     What  came  to  pass 
when  Jonah  shipped  from  Joppa  down  to  Tarshish?" 

"Oh,  plague  on  Jonah  and  the  whale!"  interjected  the 
sailing-master.  "The  lad  's  not  fay,  nor  will  he  die; 
he  's  not  the  kind  that  dies.  Look  at  the  build  of  him, 
by  hen !  I  guess  I  know  his  breed — as  slim  and  lean  and 
as  clean  as  a  greyhound,  and  a  face  on  him  like  a  tomb- 
stun  marble !  Nay,  bully,  he  '11  not  die,  nor  neither  is  he 
fay.  He  '11  see  your  toes  pointing  at  the  stars  all  down 
amongst  the  daisies." 

"He  has  caught  a  sniff  of  the  land,"  snarled  King, 
"and  just  as  sure  as  he  smells  land  he  's  as  mad  as  a 
hatter." 

"And  that  is  as  true  as  the  Book  o'  Jack,"  assented 
the  sailing-master.  "He  were  fetching  my  breakfast 
awhile  ago,  when  he  caught  a  whiff  of  the  offshore  breeze. 
He  dropped  the  coUops  on  the  deck,  and  flung  up  his  head 
with  a  snort.  'If  ever  I  come  ashore,'  quo'  he,  *oh,  if 
ever  I  come  ashore ! '  *  If  ever  ye  come  ashore, '  quo '  I, 
'ye  '11  be  hanged  for  a  picaroon.'  And  what  d'  ye  think 
he  said  to  me?  'I  'd  rather  be  hanged  on  shore,'  quo' 
he,  *  than  float  ten  thousand  year ! '  'T  is  exactly  what  he 
said  to  me.  I  '11  take  my  oath  upon  it.  'You  misbetaken 
gromet,'  says  I,  'I  will  break  ye  in  two,'  and  drew  back 
my  hand  to  fetch  him  a  wipe— for  those  shipwrecked 
collops  smelled  passing  gay !  But  he  just  stood  up  and 
looked  at  me,  and  never  wavered  a  hair.  'Now,  strike 
him  or  lie,'  quo'  I  to  myself.  'Tom  Scarlett,  strike  him 
or  lie!'    But,  'pon  my  word  o'  rectitude,  when  I  looked 


1 6  Barnaby  Lee 


at  his  face,  I  could  n't  'a'  struck  him  a  finger-flip  had  it 
cost  me  twenty  joe!  'Liar  ye  be,'  quo'  I  to  myself;  'a 
most  pemickulous  liar ! '  But  strike  him  I  could  n  't,  not 
to  save  my  soul.    He  never  flinched  a  hair." 

"By  granny,  I  can  make  him  flinch!"  growled  the 
mate.  "  D '  ye  mark  the  eyes  I  put  on  him  ?  By  granny, 
he  '11  dodge  for  me." 

"All  right,"  rejoined  the  sailing-master,  quietly 
shrugging  his  brawny  shoulders;  "I  never  said  he 
would  n  't.  But  I  ha '  yet  to  see  him  dodge  for  you  or  for 
any  man.  I  ha'  seen  a  young  springal  with  a  face  like 
his  look  up  at  the  executioner,  and  make  the  headsman 
shut  both  eyes  afore  he  durst  strike.  'T  is  a  quality 
runneth  in  the  blood  when  men  be  thoroughbred." 

"A  blight  upon  his  quality,"  snarled  John  King. 
"I  would  I  were  shut  of  him." 

"Why  don't  ye  drop  him  overboard,  then?"  said  the 
mate,  "I  've  advised  ye  to  do  it  half  a  dozen  times.  A 
man  is  a  fool  to  wear  a  wart,  I  say,  when  there  is  a  cure 
so  handy." 

"Don't  call  me  a  fool,  Jack  Glasco,"  said  the  captain. 
"  If  a  man  be  paid  to  wear  warts,  he  'd  be  a  fool  to  cure 
'em.  If  I  choose  to  wear  warts  for  other  men,  what 
business  is  it  of  yours  ?  There  's  greater  fools  than  them 
that  wear  warts.  There  's  fools  that  stick  their  meddling 
thumbs  in  other  people's  pie." 

' '  They  takes  'em  out  again,  John  King, ' '  said  the  sail- 
ing-master, calmly.  ' '  They  takes  'em  out  again  straight- 
way.   Your  plums  be  werry  bad. " 


The  Three  Picaroons  17 

"I  don't  take  mine  out,"  growled  the  mate;  "and  a 
murrain  on  your  plums!  Who  is  the  gromet,  anyway, 
that  we  should  cherish  him  ?  What  right  has  he  to  these 
respects?" 

King  turned  to  the  mate. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  "I  warned  ye  once  to  attend 
your  own  affairs.  Do  ye  want  that  I  should  warn  ye 
twice  ? ' '    There  was  an  ugly  look  in  his  eye. 

"Oh,  no,  John,"  hastily  stammered  the  mate.  "In- 
deed, John,  truly  I  don't."  He  laid  his  hand  on  the 
captain's  arm  in  an  ingratiating  way.  "But,  John, 
now,  marry,  look  ye,  John,"  and  he  swallowed  hard  at 
a  lump  in  his  throat,  ' '  the  knave  will  slip  a  venom  in  the 
soup  some  day." 

"Oh,  quits!"  said  the  sailing-master.  "Ye  act  like 
two  old  tom-cats:  *Fizz-zz!  miaouw! — and  the  dickens  to 
pay ! '  What  's  the  good  of  it  ?  One  says  '  Spit ! '  t '  other 
*Spat!'  that  's  all  it  ever  comes  to.  I  think  you  'd 
come  to  sense.  I  don't  care  who  the  gromet  is,  nor  what 
John  King  does  with  him  here ;  but  there  's  one  thing  I 
do  know.  He  '11  never  poison  soup.  That  's  not  his  sort ; 
the  lad  's  a  thoroughbred.  Nay,  Jack,  he  '11  leave  the 
ratsbane  to  you  and  King." 

The  captain  turned  with  a  flushing  face :  ' '  You  call  me 
a  poisoner?"  he  roared. 

The  sailing-master  looked  at  him,  "Well,  now,  sup- 
pose I  did  ? ' '  His  hands  were  set  upon  his  hips,  and  his 
head  was  cocked  upon  one  side.  "Do  ye  think  ye  can 
daunt  me  with  your  face  or  frighten  me  with  your  up- 


^  ^  Barnaby  Lee 

roar  ?  Bah ! "  he  said,  with  a  sudden  touch  of  unexpected 
fire.  "Do  ye  think  that  I  'd  fear  to  break  ye  in  two  like 
a  scouring-rush  where  ye  stand  ?  I  never  said  I  'd  do  it ; 
but  mark  my  words,  John  King,  some  day,  when  we  're 
not  sober,  w-e  will  come  to  hand-grips  yet.  I  be  a  slow- 
natured  man,  nor  quick  to  wrath;  but  I  give  ye  a  fair 
warning.  Don't  ye  rouse  me,  for  when  the  old  Adam 
b'ileth  up  I  be  as  heady  as  an  elephant  that  weareth  of 
his  teeth  outside  and  sporteth  tails  both  fore  and  aft. 
And  mark  me,  John,"  he  continued,  with  a  cold  blaze  in 
his  eyes,  ' '  if  ever  we  come  to  that  happy  day,  there  '11  be 
somebody  wishing  he  never  was  born,  and  it  won't  be 
'yours  dutiful,'  neither." 

King  laid  his  hand  on  his  pistol,  his  countenance 
flaming  with  fury.  Yet,  as  he  stared  into  the  unmoved 
face  of  the  stalwart  sailing-master,  something  stayed  his 
frenzy.  Twice  his  hand  thrilled  with  a  deadly  impulse, 
then  his  whole  look  changed. 

' '  Blight  me  green ! "  he  said,  with  a  harsh,  forced 
laugh,  and  showing  his  teeth  like  a  beaten  hound,  he 
turned  to  the  master's  mate.  "Here  is  a  gromet  ye  can- 
not cow,  Glasco.    Don't  ye  want  to  try  it  on?" 

The  mate  leaned  back  against  the  rail  with  a  grin  of 
sullen  satisfaction. 

' '  No, ' '  said  he ;  "  that  's  not  my  pie.  You  've  put  your 
own  fingers  into  it ;  go  on  and  eat  your  plums. ' ' 

''Ware  shoal!' ^  shrieked  the  lookout.  ''Hard  a-star- 
board.    Jam  her  down!" 

"Jam  she  is!"  said  the  helmsman.     The  flute-ship 


Wt   ftUALL  SOON   SEE   WMETHEB  I  'lL   PASS  OK  NOT  I'  HE  SAID." 


The  Three  Picaroons  19 

whirled  upon  her  keel.  The  wind  piped ;  the  spray  sang; 
the  headlands  swept  astern.  To  right  and  left,  the 
crew  stared  across  a  spacious  bay  in  which  the  fleets  of 
the  world  might  have  found  safe  harbor.  The  air  was 
filled  with  snow-white  gulls;  wide-winged  ospreys 
wheeled  dizzily  overhead.  Along  the  west  a  vast,  wild 
fen  stretched  measureless,  rimming  the  wilderness.  Off 
to  the  east  the  oaks  on  the  forest-covered  hills  were 
turned  to  lattices  of  gold  by  the  sun.  Down  from  the 
lookout  came  a  new  hail,  this  with  a  sharper,  more  vehe- 
ment ring:  "Port,  ho!"  he  shouted.  "The  Dutchmen 
be  in  sight ! ' ' 

Upon  a  narrow  point  of  land  five  miles  beyond  the 
ship 's  prow,  stood  a  little  shining  city.  Its  frosty  gables 
glistened  like  bright  crystals  in  the  sunlight,  and  above 
them  a  pale-blue  cloud  of  smoke  drifted  slowly  away 
across  the  sky. 

The  peaked  roofs  from  which  the  frost  had  thawed 
were  red  and  green  and  blue;  in  the  yellow  walls  below 
them  the  many  tiny  windows  flashed. 

So  very  small  and  so  crystal-clear  the  little  town  lay 
clustering  there,  it  seemed  to  be  a  toy  town. 

To  the  left  a  wide  green  river  came  spreading  to  meet 
the  sea;  to  the  right  an  uncertainty  of  dancing  waters 
rippled.  Behind  the  town  arose  a  wooded  hill;  against 
its  purple  slope  stood  a  dark-red  windmill,  whose  slowly 
revolving  sails  shimmered  and  fluttered  in  the  sun  like 
the  trembling  wings  of  a  dragon-fly. 

A  stir  ran  over  the  flute-ship,   a  quick,   impetuous 


20  Barnaby  Lee 


thrill.  The  crew  drew  closer  together,  and  the  quarrel 
upon  the  poop-deck  ceased;  for  this  was  the  stronghold 
of  the  Dutch,  the  city  of  New  Amsterdam, 

As  they  drove  on  they  could  discern  the  ships  that  lay 
at  anchor  in  the  roads,  and  make  out  goods  piled  on  the 
wharves  in  bales  and  casks;  there  were  pipes  of  wine, 
hogsheads  of  sugar,  firkins  of  butter,  tuns  of  oil,  huge 
round  copper-fastened  butts  of  rum,  and  trundles  of 
leaf-tobacco. 

The  houses  were  of  brick  and  stone ;  the  windows  were 
cased  in  lead;  their  framework  was  of  the  stoutest  oak. 
It  was  no  toy  town.  Then  a  long  breath  ran  through 
the  Ragged  Staff,  and  the  sailors  set  their  teeth. 

Close  by  the  western  waterside,  facing  the  channel, 
the  walls  of  an  earthen  fort  arose,  four-square,  dun- 
colored,  ragged  with  grass,  reinforced,  where  its  angles 
jutted  out,  with  bastions  faced  with  cut  graystone. 

On  the  far  bastion  was  a  windmill,  dim  in  a  cloud  of 
flour,  its  one  black  window  staring  down  the  harbor  like 
an  eye.  On  the  near  bastion  was  a  flagstaff,  up  which  a 
flag  was  running  to  the  truck.  As  they  watched  they 
heard  shouting ;  saw  men  come  running  from  below  with 
morions  and  breastplates  gleaming  brightly  in  the  sun. 

There  was  a  brazier  on  the  rampart ;  the  smoke  curled 
up  from  it.  Along  the  walls,  like  candle-flames,  they 
could  see  brass  cannon  shining. 

John  King  drew  out  his  flintlock  pistols  and  stirred 
their  priming-pans.  "We  shall  soon  see  whether  I  11 
pass  or  not!"  he  said,  with  flashing  eyes. 


CHAPTER  III 


A  STAETLING   CANNON-SHOT 


AT  the  dawn  of  that  fair  first  day  of  April,  New 
JLjL  Amsterdam  lay  dreaming  between  the  rivers  which 
washed  her  sides.  The  night  stars  still  were  shining, 
and  the  earth  was  hushed  and  gray,  but  the  waking 
cocks  were  crowing  bravely,  and  the  eastern  sky  was 
touched  with  light. 

"It  is  a  fine  spring  morning,"  said  the  night  watch, 
and  with  that  they  blew  out  their  lanterns  and  went 
trudging  homeward  through  the  lanes  among  the  cab- 
bage-patches. 

The  day  broke  cold  and  clear  and  bright.  The  higher 
tree-tops  caught  the  glory  of  the  sun.  The  crows  began 
their  clamor  in  the  edges  of  the  forest,  or  in  long  files, 
high  overhead,  flapped  westward  to  the  mainland.  The 
burghers  of  the  town  awoke,  yawned,  stretched,  arose 
and  dressed  themselves,  and  having  duly  breakfasted  and 
filled  their  long  clay  pipes,  went  straight  about  their 
business  in  the  city. 

The  breakfast  smoke  still  lingered  in  the  chimneys  of 
the  town,  and  the  hoar-frost  still  defined  the  shadows  on 
the  ground,  but  the  red  sun  had  run  its  course  an  hour 
up  the  sky,  and  the  bustle  of  the  new  day  ceased  in  quiet. 


2  2  Barnaby  Lee 

In  Metje  Wessel's  tavern  by  the  waterside,  where  the 
drowsy  sailors  slowly  drained  their  pewter  mugs,  it  was 
so  still  that  one  could  almost  hear  the  needles  click  as 
Juffrouw  Metje  knitted  by  the  fireside. 

Suddenly  there  came  a  crash  that  sent  the  echoes  fly- 
ing from  the  finger-post  at  Copsey  Hook  to  the  gray 
sand-hills  where  sweet  Minetta-water  ran. 

**Hei!"  cried  the  sailors,  dropping  their  mugs. 

''Where?"  gasped  Metje,  dropping  her  knitting. 

**Fizz-zz-zz!"  said  the  cat,  and  flew  under  the  cup- 
board, her  tail  swelled  as  big  as  a  blacking-brush. 

The  brewer's  boy  in  Stony  Street  was  hoisting  a  sack 
of  malt  to  the  loft.  ' '  Heigh-ho ! "  he  cried.  ' '  My  faith ! 
what  's  that?  Why,  bless  my  heart,  't  was  a  cannon- 
shot!" 

In  his  astonishment  he  slipped  his  hold  upon  the  hoist- 
ing-tackle.   Down  rushed  the  sack. 

"Thou  dom-kop!"  roared  the  overseer,  from  the  stor- 
age-loft above.  "What  's  that  to  thee?  Hoist  up  the 
sack ;  we  have  no  time  to  spare. ' ' 

But  the  apprentice  was  gone,  the  sack  was  down.  The 
overseer  followed. 

Mynheer  Johannes  Van  Hoom  had  just  climbed  up  to 
his  lofty  office  stool.  "What  's  that?"  he  cried,  as  the 
thundering  crash  made  the  lead-cased  windows  rattle  in 
the  wall.  "What  's  that,  I  say?  Guns?  Donderslag!" 
and  he  dropped  two  guilders  on  the  floor.  ' '  Pick  them 
up,  Jan;  pick  them  up!"  he  sputtered,  bouncing  down 
from  the  stool.     "Heida!  there  it  is  again!     Oh,  my 


A  Startling  Cannon-shot        2;^ 

great-uncle  Christopher!"  and  forgetting  his  copper- 
buckled  shoes  that  stood  behind  the  office  door,  he  dashed 
out  into  the  Winckel  Street,  wiping  his  pen  upon  what 
he  supposed  to  be  his  long  black  coat-tails;  it  happened 
to  be  his  best  silk  handkerchief,  but  that  is  no  matter 
now.  "Guns!"  he  shouted  at  the  door  of  Mynheer 
Comelis  Van  Brugh.  ' '  They  are  shooting  guns  like  any- 
thing! Oh,  my  great-uncle  Christopher!"  For  again 
the  sound  of  that  thumping  gun  came  rolling  over  the 
town.  Away  went  Mynheer  Van  Hoorn,  his  gold-rimmed 
spectacles  all  askew,  his  quill-pen  waving  in  the  air,  and 
his  leather  slippers  clocking  on  the  cobbles  as  he  ran. 

Mynheer  Van  Brugh  laid  down  his  pen  and  looked  up 
from  his  long  accounts. 

"My  soul  and  body,  what  a  waste!"  he  groaned, 
wringing  his  skinny  hands.  * '  Ten  pounds  of  powder  at 
a  crack ;  and  ach !  how  gunpowder  costs ! ' ' 

But  "Fire!"  cried  Goosen  Van  Bommel,  the  chief  of 
the  volunteers,  and  hurling  his  ladder  against  the  house, 
he  went  scrambling  up  to  see  where  the  smoke  arose  the 
thickest.  But  all  the  smoke  that  he  could  see  as  he  clam- 
bered along  the  ridge-pole  came  out  of  his  own  chimney- 
pot, under  his  very  nose.  "Aha!  I  will  put  that  out 
so  soon ! "  he  cried  triumphantly,  and  emptied  his  bucket 
down  the  flue.  There  came  a  shriek  from  below,  for 
Goosen 's  wife  was  baking  bread !  Down  tumbled  Goosen 
Van  Bommel.  Thump,  bump !  he  rolled  along  the  roof ; 
thump,  bump !  the  echoes  rumbled. 

Down  the  wind  again  came  the  thunder  of  a  cannon; 


2  4  Barnaby  Lee 

and  suddenly,  as  if  replying  to  it,  farther  off,  and  faint 
but  sullen,  another  cannon-shot  resounded,  and  at  that 
instant  in  the  town  a  heavy  bell  began  to  ring,  until  the 
thin  air  trembled  with  the  reverberating  din. 

Klang,  kling-klang !  Thump-bump  !  thump-bump ! 
the  echoes  banged  and  rumbled.  Tousled  heads  came 
popping  out  at  a  hundred  windows;  gray-haired  gaffers 
tottered  forth  in  their  woolen-stockinged  feet;  house- 
wives cackled  on  the  stoops;  grandams  cried,  "Ach! 
God  keep  us ! "  and  the  shock-headed  children,  on  their 
way  to  the  little  gray  dominie's  school,  turned  and  ran 
for  home  again  in  short,  fat-legged  fright.  It  was  the 
wild  men  come  again,  with  horrid  butchery,  or  the  pirates 
from  the  east  shore  where  the  fires  were  at  night;  or, 
worst  of  all,— their  hearts  stood  still  at  the  thought,— 
it  was  the  bloody  Duke  of  Alva  risen  from  the  dead,  and, 
with  the  demon  Spaniards  out  of  their  nightmares,  fall- 
ing upon  the  town.  With  one  accord  the  children  fled 
for  home. 

The  cannon  now  had  taken  on  an  ugly,  spiteful  sound, 
like  dogs  barking  defiance  at  one  another  across  a  ditch, 
and  through  the  market-field  came  a  sound  of  running, 
and  of  a  hoarse  voice  shouting,  "To  the  fort!"  Up  the 
crooked  street  came  Johan  Vos,  the  messenger,  waving 
his  official  staff  and  shouting,  "Ho,  burghers!  To  the 
fort,  or  pay  the  penalty!" 

"What  says  he?  To  the  fort?  Oh,  hei!  How  can 
we  leave  our  shops?"  they  cried.  "But  the  penalty— 
three  guilders?    Ach,  neen;  we  '11  to  the  fort!"    And 


A  Startling  Cannon-shot        25 

away  they  all  ran  toward  the  market-field,  their  shop 
doors  banging  behind  them ;  and  on  went  the  messenger, 
shouting.  From  every  direction  came  the  sound  of  run- 
ning feet.  From  highways,  byways,  lanes,  and  alleys, 
the  people  came  hurrying  through  the  town,  and  into  the 
market-field. 

There,  on  slightly  rising  ground,  stood  Fort  Amster- 
dam, staring  across  the  bay,  like  a  huge,  brown  spider 
on  the  margin  of  a  web,  aroused  from  slumber  by  some 
blundering  fly,  and  ready  to  spring  upon  its  prey. 

But  the  only  fly  the  burghers  could  see,  as  they  hur- 
ried through  the  market-field  to  the  narrow  beach  below 
the  fort,  was  a  heedless,  headlong,  ominous  thing  with  an 
ugly  air  of  its  own.  There  in  the  offing,  beyond  the  reefs 
which  hedged  Manhattan  Island,  a  strange  ship  lay, 
hove  to  upon  the  tide,  her  dark  hull  rimmed  with  yellow 
foam  where  the  curt  waves  beat  upon  her  rolling  sides. 
Her  brown  sails  flapped  and  slatted  in  the  wind,  and 
across  the  water,  on  the  shifting  gusts,  came  the  rattle 
of  her  rigging  and  the  hoarse  calling  of  the  sailors  as 
they  braced  her  yards  about. 

There  she  drifted  to  and  fro  like  a  huge,  uncertain 
bird,  the  heads  of  her  crew,  like  dark,  round  balls,  run- 
ning along  her  rail.  The  tide  was  almost  at  the  flood, 
yet  still  was  running  strong,  and,  through  the  eddy  at 
Copsey  Hook,  a  shallop  was  seen  putting  off  from  shore. 

A  hush  fell  upon  the  crowd.  They  stood  there,  staring 
anxiously.  No  one  knew  what  had  transpired,  nor  what 
should  yet  betide. 


2  6  Barnaby  Lee 

Then,  suddenly,  on  the  silence,  like  the  beating  of  a 
drum,  there  rose  a  sound  of  hurrying  feet  inside  the  fort's 
quadrangle.  From  the  open  market-field  a  boy  came 
running  through  the  wide  north  gate  across  the  deserted 
square.  His  bright-red  monkey-jacket  gleamed  in  the 
sunlight,  and  under  his  jacket  his  knit  shirt  of  wool 
stared  like  a  black-and-yellow  grate.  His  stockings  were 
of  yellow  yarn,  and  his  legs  were  as  stout  as  two  small 
trees.  His  breeches  of  brown-gray  duffles  had  a  most 
amazing  slack,  and  his  wooden  shoes  thumped  loudly  as 
he  ran.  His  hair  was  the  color  of  Archangel  flax,  and 
on  his  head  he  wore  a  red  Rouen  cap  with  a  tassled  tip 
that  dangled  down  upon  the  side  and  fluttered  in  the  air. 

He  scudded  along  the  windowed  row  which  faced  the 
deserted  parade  until  he  came  to  a  house  built  of  dark 
glazed  brick,  with  a  tall,  narrow  chimney  at  each  end, 
and  a  flight  of  wooden  steps  before  its  door.  Pausing 
a  moment,  breathless,  he  leaned  against  the  stoop,  and 
then,  with  a  sharp,  clear  voice,  cried,  "What,  there, 
Dorothy!"  Then,  again,  ''Dorothy,  Dorothy  Van!"  he 
called,  and  beat  on  the  stoop  with  his  shoe.  "Come 
quickly  forth.    An  English  ship  is  putting  us  to  shame !" 

A  bright  face  gleamed  for  an  instant  at  the  curtained 
window.  Light  footfalls  hurried  across  the  floor  within. 
The  knocker  rattled,  the  door  swung  wide,  and  a  slender, 
blue-eyed,  fair-haired  girl  came  running  down  the  steps. 

' '  An  English  ship  ? ' '  she  exclaimed,  excitedly  flushing. 
"Oh,  Dirck,  will  there  be  war?" 

"Who  knows?"  cried  the  boy.    "As  like  as  not;  or  a 


A  Startling  Cannon-shot        27 

battle,  which  is  much  the  same.  The  English  are  an  evil 
lot.    Up  quickly,  that  we  may  see." 

Across  the  empty  quadrangle  they  ran,  and  up  the 
ragged  path,  zigzag  along  the  grassy  wall.  Upon  the 
crest  of  the  rampart  lay  a  rotting  gabion  filled  with 
earth ;  on  this  the  boy  sprang  and  stood  staring. 

' '  Heida !  see  them  row ! "  he  cried. 

The  shallop  had  passed  the  foaming  reefs,  and  was 
heading  straight  for  the  stranger. 


CHAPTER  IV 


HOW   JOHN   KING   PASSED 


ON  the  southwest  bastion  of  Fort  Amsterdam  stood 
Jan  Reyndertsen,  the  master  gunner.  His  red  mus- 
tache flared  straight  out  from  under  his  long  nose,  and 
his  reddish-brown  eyes  peered  through  their  bristling 
lashes  like  frosted  hazel-nuts.  Unlike  frosted  hazel-nuts, 
they  had  a  wicked  gleam. 

"Give  me  the  word  to  fire,"  he  snarled,  "and  I  '11 
mend  this  Englishman's  manners  for  him  with  a  ven- 
geance. He  hath  neither  asked  if  he  may  voyage  up- 
stream, nor  stricken  his  topsails  to  the  Dutch  flag,  as  he 
is  bound  to  do,  and  all  the  reply  the  rogue  hath  vouch- 
safed to  our  polite  salute  is  to  fire  a  beggarly  four- 
pounder  not  fit  to  shoot  at  rats.  Just  give  me  the  word. 
I  '11  teach  him!  I  heaved  him  to  with  one  round  shot; 
I  '11  hull  him  with  the  next.  I  '11  give  him  a  dish  of  red- 
hot  beans  from  old  Donder-Rooker,  here,  that  will  make 
him  think  that  the  black  death  hath  walked  through  his 
company  four  abreast.  I  '11  teach  him  to  defy  our  right- 
ful mastery  on  this  stream,  and  to  flout  the  flag  of  Hol- 
land as  though  it  were  a  rag ! ' '  He  blew  the  half-burnt 
powder  from  the  touch-hole  pan,  and  smote  the  cannon 

28 


How  John  King  Passed         29 

across  the  breech  until  it  fairly  rang.  '  *  I  '11  teach  Him ! 
We  are  the  masters  here. ' ' 

For  at  that  time  the  Dutch  in  New  Amsterdam  held 
the  whole  North  River  region  in  the  name  of  a  great  trad- 
ing firm,— the  Dutch  West  India  Company,— and  know- 
ing that  there  was  nowhere  a  trade  could  surpass  that  of 
the  North  River  in  furs,  ship-timbers,  and  cabinet  woods, 
they  were  determined  to  keep  the  traffic  and  all  of  its 
profits  for  their  own;  so  they  planted  their  fort  at  the 
river-mouth,  commanding  the  only  approach,  and  suf- 
fered none  but  their  own  ships  to  pass  without  a  license ; 
and  the  licenses  they  did  grant  were  so  fenced  about  with 
terms  as  to  make  compliance  with  them  almost  im- 
possible. 

But  the  English,  jealous  of  the  Dutch,  and  coveting 
their  increasing  gains,  denied  their  right  of  possession, 
and  laid  claim  to  the  North  River  region  themselves,  by 
ancient  grants  from  old  King  James,  and  by  right  of 
discovery,  on  the  ground  that  Henry  Hudson,  who  first 
explored  the  stream,  was  an  Englishman  by  birth,  al- 
though he  sailed  upon  Dutch  ventures,  stubbornly  main- 
taining, despite  all  contradiction,  that  what  an  English 
eye  sees  first  is  English  thence  forever. 

This  claim  the  Dutch  denied,  as  men  are  very  apt  to 
do  with  claims  that  are  not  to  their  liking,  and  stead- 
fastly maintained  their  hold  upon  the  river  and  its  traffic. 

Thus  it  had  already  come  to  pass  that  the  revenues 
of  the  Dutch,  in  spite  of  their  constant  vigilance  and 
ward,  had  been  heavily  defrauded  by  the  smuggling  of 


30  Barnaby  Lee 

furs  into  Boston  and  Virginia,  and  by  the  pillaging  of 
unlicensed  traders,  sea  Bohemians  and  robbers,  who  ran 
into  the  North  River  under  cover  of  night,  and  plied 
illicit  traffic  along  the  borders  of  the  stream. 

"They  are  thieves  and  lawless  rogues!"  cried  the 
gunner.  ' '  I  should  like  to  hang  them  all !  They  rob  our 
hunters'  deadfalls,  and  ruin  our  fishermen's  nets.  They 
break  the  heads  of  our  farmer-boys  and  terrorize  the 
women.  There  is  no  peace  in  all  the  world  where  Eng- 
lishmen may  come ! ' '  He  shook  his  fist  at  the  English 
ship  as  she  swung  upon  the  tide. 

The  shallop  was  rapidly  nearing  her,  the  oarsmen 
pulling  a  long,  steady  stroke  that  swiftly  ate  into  the 
distance. 

As  soon  as  they  came  within  hail  of  her,  a  man  with 
an  air  of  authority  put  his  head  above  the  ship's  side 
and  cried  out  sharply,  * '  Keep  off,  there ! ' '  But  the  men 
in  the  shallop  rowed  on.  ' '  Keep  off,  I  say ! "  he  shouted 
again.  ' '  Keep  off,  on  your  peril ! ' '  Yet  still  the  oarsmen 
rowed  on  as  steadily  as  before,  until  they  were  within 
twenty  yards  of  the  ship,  when  the  ship's  company  rose 
up  suddenly  amidships,  in  a  body,  with  here  and  there 
the  point  of  a  half-pike  glistening  over  their  heads,  and 
he  that  seemed  the  master  among  them  cried  again, 
**Keep  off,  or  I  '11  fire  into  ye!  Keep  off,  I  say,  in  the 
king's  name,  and  go  about  your  business." 

"Our  business  is  with  you,  sir,"  answered  a  sharp 
voice,  and  the  harbor-master  rose  in  the  stern  of  the  shal- 
lop.   *  *  Why  have  ye  not  stricken  your  topsails  ? '  * 


How  John  King  Passed         3 1 

"Stricken  my  topsails?"  roared  the  other.  "What 
slush  is  this?  Who  are  you,  that  ye  bid  me  strike  my 
topsails  ?    What  do  you  take  me  for  ? ' ' 

"I  take  you  for  an  insolent  rogue,"  said  the  Dutch- 
man, sturdily,  "unless  you  speedily  mend  me  both  your 
language  and  your  manners." 

* '  Since  when  have  you  got  a  mortgage  on  the  manners 
of  the  world?"  retorted  the  English  captain.  "I  will 
strike  my  tops  for  nobody  but  my  own  pleasure  and  King 
Charles." 

"In  the  name  of  the  city  of  New  Amsterdam,  I  bid 
ye  strike  your  topsails ! ' '  cried  the  harbor-master,  sternly. 

' '  Be  hanged  to  the  city  of  New  Amsterdam ! ' '  shouted 
the  Englishman,  wrathfully,  "and  be  off  about  your 
own  affair.    I  '11  strike  no  topsails  for  ye!" 

"Then  thou  art  arrest  in  the  name  of  the  law,"  said 
the  harbor-master,  stoutly.    ' '  Row  on ;  I  will  go  aboard. ' ' 

"Keep  off,  ye  meddling  fool!"  cried  the  English 
mariner.  "If  you  attempt  to  come  aboard  I  will  blow 
ye  out  of  the  water !  Glasco !  Glasco ! "  he  cried  shrilly, 
turning  his  face  inboard. 

The  oarsmen  had  taken  up  the  stroke  and  were  rowing 
steadily  onward.  The  wind  had  changed,  and  not  a 
sound  could  be  heard  by  the  throng  on  shore. 

Then  suddenly  a  pantomime  began  on  the  vessel's 
deck.  The  man  in  the  gangway  waved  his  arms ;  the  crew 
tugged  all  together  at  some  unwieldy  thing  behind  the 
bulwark  in  the  waist.  The  shallop  turned,  and  the  oars- 
men began  to  pull  for  shore  as  though  the  very  fiend 


3  2  Barnaby  Lee 

himself  were  at  their  heels.  There  was  a  waving  and  a 
scurry  in  the  flute-ship 's  waist,  and,  with  a  shrill  outcry, 
a  man  ran  from  the  galley  with  a  red-hot  touching-iron 
in  his  hand. 

Hastily  sighting  a  murdering-gun  which  the  crew  had 
cast  loose  at  the  gangway,  he  sprang  back,  and  touched 
it  with  a  quick  thrust  at  the  breech. 

A  sudden  puff  of  thick  white  smoke  sprang  from  the 
vessel 's  side ;  there  was  a  vicious  crack,  and  the  cannon- 
shot  plunged  into  the  stream  an  oar's  length  behind  the 
shallop. 

The  men  in  her  shrieked  and  tore  at  the  oars,  some  this 
way  and  some  that.  One  cried,  '  *  Help  ! ' '  another,  ' '  Mur- 
der!" A  third  fell  down  among  the  stretchers  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat,  and  lay  there  palsied  with  affright, 
his  face  hidden  in  his  hands.  Yet  they  came  ashore  by 
some  means  or  other,  as  pale  as  ghosts,  and  shaking  like 
leaves. 

They  were  hardly  out  upon  the  beach  when  a  boat  was 
lowered  from  the  falls  of  the  ship,  and  a  crew  poured 
into  it  down  the  lines.  Giving  way  together,  they  fol- 
lowed after  the  flying  shallop  without  a  sound  except 
the  grinding  of  the  oars  against  the  tholes.  After  the 
first  came  a  second  boat.  Before  it  cleared  the  falls,  the 
third,  a  black-and-yellow  yawl,  swung  swiftly  down  from 
the  stranger's  quarter. 

There  were  four  sailors  in  her  at  the  oars,  and  two 
musketeers  at  her  bow.  The  captain  ran  down  the  stern- 
ladder  and  leaped  into  her,  thump,  across  the  thwarts. 


How  John  King  Passed         33 

He  had  a  cutlass  in  his  belt,  and  a  pair  of  flint-lock  pis- 
tols, as  had  also  the  sailing-master,  who  was  with  him. 
Beside  them,  in  the  stem-sheets,  was  the  cabin-boy.  He 
carried  two  light  carbines,  slung  over  his  shoulders  by 
straps,  and  held  a  burning  gun-match  in  his  teeth.  As 
he  rattled  down  the  ladder  and  dropped  into  the  yawl, 
a  thread  of  white  smoke  followed  him  as  a  cobweb  follows 
the  spider.  Then  the  yawl,  with  her  long  oars  topping 
the  waves,  came  shearing  toward  land. 

With  a  swash  the  three  boats  drove  upon  the  beach  as 
if  they  meant  to  row  straight  on  into  the  town  upon  the 
wind,  while  from  the  flute-ship's  deck  came  the  ominous 
sound  of  rammers  plunging  home  into  the  cannon. 

Nobody  spoke.  The  crowd  drew  back  a  little  from  the 
shore.  The  English  captain's  under  jaw  was  thrust  out 
as  though  he  courted  war.  "What  under  the  canopy 
does  this  arresting  mean?"  he  cried.  But  no  man  an- 
swered him.  Again  he  cried  out  angrily,  "What  does 
this  arresting  mean?"  Yet  nobody  answered  a  word. 
He  laid  his  hand  to  his  pistol-butt,  and  was  for  the  third 
time  speaking,  when  over  the  crowd  came  a  voice,  cry- 
ing shrilly,  '  *  Way,  there !    Way ! ' ' 

The  people  swung  to  right  and  left,  and  down  the  nar- 
row way  came  a  man  so  ponderous  that  he  looked  like  a 
cask  upon  two  kegs.  Under  the  brim  of  his  high-crowned, 
gray  felt  hat  his  face  shone  as  red  as  the  rising  sun  on  a 
rainy  morning.  He  wore  a  pair  of  wide-mouthed  boots, 
slouched  around  his  ankles,  with  yellow  tassels  at  their 
tugs,  fantastically  bobbing.    At  the  knees  of  his  trousers 


34  Barnaby  Lee 

were  yellow  rosettes,  with  ribbons  fluttering  from  them; 
and  over  his  shoulders  creaked  a  jacket  of  red  bull 's  hide, 
so  stiff  that  it  gaped  like  a  warehouse  door  across  his 
swelling  chest.  Clutching  a  dagger  in  one  hand  and  a 
long  staff  in  the  other,  he  was  striving  vainly  to  buckle 
his  belt  as  he  trundled  down  the  bank.  His  sword,  a 
prodigious  long  one,  slung  in  a  baldric  across  his  breast, 
got  between  his  legs,  and  clanked  aboat  like  an  iron  tail. 

At  his  heels  came  a  man  so  shriveled  and  thin  that  he 
seemed  to  be  only  a  shadow.  He  was  dressed  in  black 
from  head  to  foot ;  at  his  girdle  was  an  ink-horn ;  in  one 
\iand  he  carried  a  parchment  roll,  and  in  the  other  a  staff 
which  he  flourished  officiously. 

"Way!"  he  cried.  "Way,  there!"  and  thrust  about 
him  with  his  staff.  "Make  way  for  the  Heer  Officier! 
Make  way  for  the  Sellout  Fiskaal!"  Down  the  bank, 
with  a  strut,  came  that  mighty  personage,  to  face  the 
insolent  Englishmen,  and  to  quell  them  with  his  mien. 

But  alas  for  the  haughty  spirit  that  goeth  before  a  fall ! 
The  butt  of  the  great  Schout  Fiskaal's  staff  caught  in 
the  end  of  his  scabbard  as  the  latter  went  clanking  from 
side  to  side.  He  tripped,  and,  sprawling  upon  all  fours, 
plunged  headlong  down  the  bank. 

His  deputy  caught  the  scabbard,  and  clung  to  it  man- 
fully; but,  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts,  away  the  Schout 
Fiskaal  went,  like  a  runaway  cask  down  the  cellar  stairs, 
dragging  the  drajonan  after  it;  and  with  his  deputy 
vainly  tugging  and  skipping  behind  him  like  a  goat,  the 
Heer  Officier  plunged  head  first  upon  the  sand. 


How  John  King  Passed         35 

A  roar  of  jeers  and  laughter  went  up  from  the  three 
ship's  boats. 

Struggling  heavily  to  his  feet,  the  great  man  glared 
about  him,  gasping.  His  breath  was  driven  out  of  him, 
and  he  could  not  speak.  Then  "Hah!"  said  he  at  last, 
with  a  gasp  that  rattled  in  his  throat.  '  *  Hah ! "  he  cried 
ferociously. 

"Hah?"  quoth  the  sailing-master.  "A  wise,  safe  say- 
ing, that.  By  hen,  no  man  can  say  you  lie  so  long  as  you 
stick  to  it ! "  Then  he  laughed  till  the  tears  rolled  down 
his  cheeks.  * '  What  the  murrain  is  this  thing  ?  "  he  asked. 
"Can  anybody  tell?  Saith  naught  but  'Hah!'  like  a 
horse  that  hath  an  oat-straw  in  its  throat!  By  hen,  it 
hath  gone  and  swallowed  its  tongue,  and  swelleth  itself 
wi'  words.  If  some  kind  friend  don't  tap  it  soon,  't  will 
surely  burst  a  girth ! ' ' 

"Insolent  and  ignorant  rogue,  thou  knowest  not  who 
I  am ! ' '  roared  the  Schout  Fiskaal,  in  a  fury.  * '  I  am  the 
hangman  and  the  gallows;  I  am  the  counsel  and  the 
judgment;  I  am  the  established  law  and  the  execution 
thereof ;  I  am  the  Schout  Fiskaal ! ' ' 

"I  am  much  beholden  to  ye,"  said  the  sailing-master, 
bowing  gravely.  "I  was  thinking  ye  might  be  Goliath 
of  Gath,  with  a  spear  like  a  weaver's  beam,  or  a  cock- 
atrice that  killeth  with  the  fury  of  its  eye." 

"Beware!"  cried  the  Schout  Fiskaal,  swelling  his 
breast ;  "  I  am  not  to  be  trifled  with.  I  am  the  sheriff  of 
the  city." 

"And  a  boddle  of  it!"  said  John  King.    "What  are 


36  Barnaby  Lee 

your  sheriff  and  city  to  me,  and  what  from  Hull  to  Bar- 
bados does  this  arresting  mean  1 ' ' 

The  three  boats  lay  with  their  dripping  prows  high 
upon  the  sand,  heeling  down  on  their  gunwales  until 
their  bottoms  were  in  plain  view.  Beneath  their  thwarts 
were  cutlasses,  hatchets,  and  flint-lock  guns.  Each  man 
had  a  pistol,  some  had  two;  and  in  the  captain's  yawl, 
in  quick  and  easy  reach,  between  the  feet  of  the  oarsmen, 
lay  half  a  dozen  musketoons,  full  cocked  and  ready 
primed.  The  faces  of  the  men  were  flushed ;  their  shift- 
ing eyes  were  wild  and  bright.  They  laughed  a  little 
among  themselves,  and  tried  the  edges  of  their  cutlasses 
upon  their  thumbs.  The  musketeers  in  the  bow  of  the 
yawl  blew  up  their  smoldering  matches  until  they  set 
the  red  sparks  flying.  The  smoke  whirled  over  the  fort 
wall. 

The  boy  on  the  gabion  sniffed.  "Pah!  Smell  their 
matches  burn!"  said  he. 

But  the  girl  beside  him  made  no  reply ;  she  was  watch- 
ing the  English  cabin-boy. 

His  eyes  were  running  along  the  shore,  counting  the 
dwelling-houses,  snuggling  there  cozily  side  by  side, 
home-like  and  neighborly.  The  breakfast  smoke  was  still 
rising  from  their  little  yellow  chimney-pots,  and  their 
green-shuttered,  white-linen-curtained  windows  gave 
hint  of  comfort  and  cheer  within. 

The  man  who  sat  beside  him  pulled  out  a  short  black 
pipe  and  filled  it  with  tobacco.  Then  he  took  the  match 
from  the  cabin-boy 's  hand,  and  thrusting  it  into  the  bowl 


How  John  King  Passed        37 

of  the  pipe,  began  to  draw  long  breaths.  As  he  puffed 
he  looked  at  the  boy's  thin  face  and  scowled,  but  made 
no  comment.  The  boy  gave  heed  to  nothing  that  the  man 
beside  him  did.  He  was  staring  at  the  earthen  wall  of 
the  fort  on  the  bank  above  him.  The  sod  upon  the 
rough  incline  was  beginning  to  stir  with  spring.  There 
were  places  in  the  ragged  grass  where  straying  goats 
had  cropped.  There  were  old  brown  thistles  and  clumps 
of  dock,  and  under  the  thistles  were  patches  of  green 
that,  to  the  English  cabin-boy's  eyes,  seemed  a  promise 
of  primroses.  He  wondered  if  there  could  be  primroses 
here  like  those  that  bloomed  in  England.  And  all  at 
once,  at  the  thought  of  them,  the  lad's  heart  leaped 
within  him,  and  before  his  eyes,  as  in  a  dream,  he  saw 
the  primroses  growing  under  the  tangled  hedges — brave 
little  golden-yellow  suns,  bright  when  the  sky  was  clear 
and  fair,  brighter  when  it  was  cloudy.  The  lanes  were 
bright  with  primroses,  and  the  fields  were  lit  with  daf- 
fodils, the  day  they  rode  so  fast  and  far  through  the  by- 
ways of  Surrey — his  father  and  he  and  the  man  with  the 
shining  sword.  The  memory  of  that  strange  long  ride 
haunted  him  like  a  vision.  The  bell  in  St.  Mary's  tower 
was  ringing  midnight  as  they  dashed  down  to  the  ferry 
through  the  street  of  Twickenham,  and  the  yellow  fog 
lay  on  the  river  like  a  sodden  cloud.  It  was  midnight 
again  as  they  came  down  the  inlet  to  Shoreham ;  and  they 
had  neither  stopped  nor  stayed  between,  excepting  to 
water  the  exhausted  horses.  At  twilight,  when  he  could 
abide  no  more  in  the  saddle  for  himself,  his  father  had 


2  8  Barnaby  Lee 

taken  him  in  his  arms  across  the  saddle-bow,  and  so  had 
carried  him  to  the  end.  And  sometimes  by  night,  and 
sometimes  by  day,  it  seemed  to  him  still  that  he  smelled 
the  wet  leather,  and  heard  the  jingle  of  bridle-chains  and 
the  sound  of  his  father's  voice  as  he  cheered  the  weary 
horses.  Worn  out,  he  had  fallen  fast  asleep  as  they  came 
down  the  inlet  to  Shoreham,  and  had  waked  with  a  salt 
taste  on  his  lips  and  the  sea-mist  in  his  tired  face.  He 
still  could  feel  the  dampness  running  down  his  cheeks, 
and  could  taste  the  chill  bitterness  that  crept  between 
his  lips.  Unconsciously  he  lifted  his  hand  to  wipe  away 
the  drip,  and  the  motion  aroused  him  as  if  from  a  dream. 
Sea-mist  and  midnight,  horses  and  bridle-chains  faded 
away.  In  his  nostrils  was  the  smother  of  the  steerage 
where  he  slept ;  his  side  ached  from  the  cables  on  which  he 
made  his  uneven  bed.  Gone !  They  were  gone  from  him, 
gone  forever— primroses,  daffodils,  daddy,  and  all! 
Through  the  mist  that  came  up  suddenly  into  his  eyes 
he  saw  on  the  rampart  a  boy  and  a  girl  looking  down 
at  him.  He  set  his  teeth  and  turned  away  proudly ;  yet 
his  under  lip  would  quiver.  Leaning  his  head  a  little 
back,  he  looked  up  into  the  sky. 

"Dirck,"  said  the  girl,  "I  do  pity  that  boy!" 
"That  knave?"  exclaimed  Dirck.    "A  rogue." 
"A  rogue?    Oh,  no,  Dirck;  no,  no,  no.    He  cannot  be 
a  rogue.    See  what  a  gentle  mouth  he  hath ! ' ' 

The  red  Rouen  cap  cocked  itself  on  one  side  with  an  air 
of  disdain.  "A  mouth?  Oh,  pah!  He  hath  two  black 
^es.    I  would  I  had  blacked  them  for  him ! ' ' 


How  John  King  Passed         39 

The  girl  looked  up.  Her  blue  eyes  flashed  with  sud- 
den indignation. 

"Dirck  Storm,  thou  art  unkind,"  she  cried;  "and 
men  who  are  unkind  are  cowards  ever,  I  warrant  that 
if  ye  two  should  meet,  that  lad  would  whip  thee  out  of 
thy  wooden  shoes  like  horse-beans  out  of  an  old  dry 
pod!" 

"Not  that  lean  knave,"  said  the  sturdy  Dirck,  feeling 
his  arm. 

"Ay,  that  lean  knave!"  rejoined  the  girl,  her  bright 
eyes  gleaming.  Then,  softening,  she  said,  "And  I  do 
pity  him,  rogue  or  no,  in  such  a  company." 

The  English  cabin-boy  looked  up.  She  smiled  and 
waved  her  hand  to  him.  He  saw  her  as  he  saw  her  in 
his  dreams  for  many  a  year. 

Above  her  head  the  April  sky  was  a  sheet  of  windy 
blue  against  which  she  stood,  outlined  crisp  and  clear. 
She  wore  a  short  jacket  of  crimson  cloth,  embroidered 
with  fine  gold  lace,  and  a  petticoat  of  dark-blue  wool 
with  a  narrow,  snow-white  stripe.  Her  high-heeled, 
square-toed  Antwerp  shoes  were  of  bright-red  Spanish 
leather,  stitched  with  white,  and  having  silver  buckles 
across  their  arching  insteps.  Her  stockings  were  of  fine 
red  wool,  with  dainty  silk-embroidered  clocks  along  her 
slender  ankles.  Her  eyes  were  brightly  deep  and  blue; 
her  face  was  very  fair.  Her  mouth  was  sweet,  but  her 
chin  was  firm.  The  pose  of  her  head  was  imperious.  At 
her  waist  a  small  silk  purse  hung  from  a  silver  girdle, 
through  which  she  had  thrust  her  thumb.    She  was  tall 


40  Barnaby  Lee 

for  her  years  and  slender.  Her  expression  changed  with 
her  changing  mood,  for  at  times  she  was  gentle,  and 
again  at  times  she  flashed  as  spirited  as  a  hawk. 

The  stolid  boy  beside  her  was  altogether  Dutch;  but 
she  was  half  Valenciennes,  and  sparkled  like  the  French. 
She  swayed  as  gracefully  as  a  flower  against  the  windy 
sky— a  charming  spot  of  color  in  the  pale  spring  day. 

King's  wild  eyes  fell  upon  her  as  she  waved  her  hand 
to  the  cabin-boy,  and,  with  a  wolfish  grin,  he  kissed  his 
hand  to  her. 

She  shrank  away  behind  the  rampart,  for  she  could 
not  bear  his  look.  His  eyes  were  as  yellow  as  a  cat's,  and 
danced  as  if  with  madness. 

They  dropped  from  the  shrinking  girl,  and  flashed 
along  the  waterside,  sweeping  the  crowd  with  a  contemp- 
tuous glance,  until  they  fell  upon  the  Schout  Fiskaal. 
The  Schout  Fiskaal  struck  his  staff  into  the  sand,  and 
glared  at  Captain  John  King. 

' '  Who  art  thou  ? "  he  asked.  * '  Whence  art  thou  come  ? 
Whither  art  thou  going,  and  what  is  thy  business?" 

**My  name  is  Acorn,"  said  King,  "and  I  grew  upon 
an  oak-tree.  I  came  from  the  place  that  I  left  last;  I 
go  wherever  I  choose.  My  business  is  peddling  peasecods 
and  trucking  for  sassafras." 

' '  Peddling  and  trucking  ?  Aha !  Then  thou  wilt  show 
me  thy  commission." 

"Show  ye  my  commission?  Pah!  a  murrain  on  com- 
missions ! ' ' 

"Where  is  your  trading-license?" 


How  John  King  Passed         41 

**I  have  no  trading-license." 

"Then  hast  thou  lived  in  New  Netherland  a  year  and 
forty  days?  Hast  kept  both  fire  and  candle-light,  as 
the  custom  law  requireth?  Is  thy  daughter  married  in 
this  city?    Doth  thy  wife  reside  here?" 

"What  rigmarole  's  this?"  cried  King.  "Why, 
you  're  mad  as  the  maddest  hatter. ' ' 

"Mad?"  cried  the  Schout  Fiskaal.  "It  is  the  law! 
It  is  made  for  such  rogues  as  thee.  Thou  must  have  an 
established  abode  in  this  province  before  thou  mayest 
embark  in  trade  without  our  leave  or  license. ' ' 

John  King  leaned  a  little  forward,  with  his  hands  upon 
his  knees. 

"Then  turn  me  this  boat  into  mine  abode  before  the 
sun  goes  down, ' '  quoth  he ;  "  for  I  am  going  up  this  river 
to  trade,  if  it  makes  an  eternal  bonfire  of  all  the  laws  and 
candles  on  the  coast." 

"This  will  cost  thee  thy  neck!"  cried  the  Schout 
Fiskaal  in  a  towering  rage. 

"My  neck?"  cried  King,  with  a  contemptuous  shrug. 
"I  have  spent  it  long  ago.  I  am  going  up  the  river  to 
trade." 

"But  thou  shalt  not  go.     Thou  art  arrest." 

' '  And  by  whose  right  am  I  arrest  ? ' ' 

"By  the  right  and  the  might  of  this  staple  town,  and 
of  the  Lords  States-General." 

"The  Lords  States-General  be  hanged!  Their  rights 
and  mights  are  shent.  These  lauds  belong  to  England. 
What  are  you  doing  here  ? '  * 


42  Barnaby  Lee 

"What  are  we  doing?— upon  these  lands?"  the  Dutch 
official  gasped.  "My  soul  and  body!  Oh,  my  soul  and 
body!" 

"Yes,"  said  King,  "what  are  you  doing  here?  These 
are  the  King  of  England's  lands,  as  ye  shall  find  right 
speedily,  I  wot.  Ye  will  hang  yourself  in  your  own  long 
tow-line  if  ye  think  to  be  playing  the  master  here. 
This  for  your  staple  town ! ' '  said  he,  ' '  and  that  for  your 
rights  and  mights!"  He  snapped  his  fingers  derisively, 
and  laughed  as  an  old  dog  laughs.  "I  will  spill  my 
heart's  blood  on  the  sand  before  I  will  yield  myself  to 
you  or  to  any  other  man ! ' ' 

At  that  the  men  in  the  boats  cried  out,  **Ay,  captain, 
so  will  we!"  and  made  ready  their  knives  and  firearms, 
and  laid  their  cutlasses  handy. 

The  Schout  Fiskaal  's  face  turned  ashy  pale.  He  spoke 
to  his  deputy. 

"Quick,  Jacobus,  quick!"  he  cried.  "Read  them  my 
commission ! ' ' 

The  trembling  deputy  unrolled  the  parchment  in  his 
hand,  and  in  a  shrill  voice,  made  squeakier  by  fright^ 
recited  its  terms. 

"Now,"  cried  the  Dutch  high  sheriff,  with  triumph 
in  his  tones, '  *  now  wilt  thou  stand  arrest  ?  Now  wilt  thou 
come  peacefully  out  of  thy  robbing  craft  ? ' ' 

Captain  John  King  gripped  his  pistol-butts.  His  yeL 
low  eyes  were  dancing. 

"If  I  come  out  of  my  craft,"  said  he,  "I  will  make  ye 
sick  of  it.      I  should  like  to  see  the  proudest  of  ye  all  lay 


How  John  King  Passed        43 

hands  on  me!"  With  a  swift  glance  along  the  bank, 
he  sprang  to  his  feet  in  the  boat.  ' '  Put  this  in  your  pipe 
and  smoke  it,"  he  said;  "smoke  it  good  and  strong! 
You  may  take  your  black  Dutch  hen-scratching  and 
fly  it  for  a  kite!  My  name  is  King,  just  plain  John 
King,  with  neither  haft  nor  handle.  My  vessel  is  named 
the  Ragged  Staff,  and  we  sail  from  Maryland.  We  are 
going  up  this  river  to  trade  with  the  Iroquois.  If  ye  be 
bent  on  stopping  me,  by  glory,  come  and  stop !  Train 
one  of  your  guns  on  me  or  my  craft  and  I  '11  rip  this 
crowd  to  ravelings.  That  's  all  I  've  got  to  say  to  you. 
Push  off  there,  Gideon." 

The  man  in  the  bow,  a  sturdy  rogue  with  a  welt  across 
his  face,  put  his  feet  to  the  sand,  and  gave  a  great  shove 
until  the  water  ran  over  his  knees,  then  leaped  into  the 
dancing  yawl  over  her  dripping  gunwale,  and  the  three 
boats  shot  away  into  the  stream. 

Along  the  grassy  rampart  came  the  master  gunner. 
"Orders!"  he  cried,  stopping  on  the  wall  above  the 
Schout  Fiskaal's  head.  But  the  Schout  Fiskaal  stared 
at  the  flying  boats  like  a  cat  let  out  of  a  bag.  *  *  Have  ye 
no  orders  for  me?"  demanded  the  gunner.  "Are  ye 
stricken  deaf  and  dumb  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  what  to  do?"  gasped  the  Schout  Fiskaal;  "oh, 
donder,  what  to  do  ? "  He  would  have  wrung  his  hands, 
but  they  were  full  of  his  dagger  and  staff.  On  a  sudden 
his  face  grew  bright.  * ' Aha ! ' '  cried  he,  "I  have  it.  A 
keg  of  schnapps!"  he  roared.  "Bring  me  a  keg  of 
schnapps ! ' '    Three  men  ran  for  the  tavern.    * '  Up  with 


44-  Barnaby  Lee 

the  flag ! "  he  shouted.  The  flag  was  up.  "  Then  hoist  it 
again ;  shall  I  not  be  obeyed  ?  "  he  cried.  Down  came  the 
flag  from  the  staff ;  then  up  it  went  again.  ' '  Now  shoot 
a  gun!"  roared  the  Schout  Fiskaal.  "Salute  the  flag!" 
said  he. 

*  *  Salute  the  flag  ? ' '  cried  the  master  gunner,  and  stared 
as  if  he  were  losing  his  wits. 

"I  said  salute.  Hast  lost  thine  ears?  Dost  want  to 
blow  a  horn?" 

"But  salutes,  mynheer!"  cried  the  gunner,  and  he 
stamped  upon  the  wall.  "If  I  am  to  fire  at  all— my  soul^ 
bid  me  fire  upon  those  rogues ! ' ' 

"I  dare  not!"  cried  the  Schout  Fiskaal.  **"We  are  al 
peace  with  England. ' ' 

The  gunner  tore  his  beard.  "Peace?"  he  cried.  "If 
this  be  peace,  there  never  was  a  war!  Burn  me  black 
and  scatter  my  scraps ! ' ' 

But  what  availed  his  wrath?  He  was  only  a  hired 
soldier,  and  of  no  authority.  His  rage  was  drowned  in 
the  cheers  of  the  crowd,  as  down  the  slope,  to  the  water's 
edge,  two  sturdy  loafers  came  trotting  with  a  brass- 
bound  keg  of  Holland  schnapps,  and  with  a  string  of 
drinking-cups  over  their  shoulders. 

*  *  Ho,  ho ! "  they  shouted  as  they  ran.  Their  comrades 
ran  behind  them.  With  eager  haste  they  broached  the 
keg. 

At  the  sound  of  the  schnapps  in  the  leather  cups  the 
Schout  Fiskaal 's  eyes  shot  fire.  ' '  We  shall  see  who  dares 
to  defy  us !    Fill  with  me,  and  drink  a  rouse  to  the  flag  of 


How  John  King  Passed         45 

the  Netherlands.  Down  with  the  insolent  English!" 
With  the  sound  of  his  voice  his  fury  grew.  * '  Down  with 
them  all!"  he  shouted,  and  dashing  his  hat  upon  the 
ground,  he  drew  his  sword  and  waved  it. 

There  were  honest  burghers  in  the  crowd  who  turned 
their  back  on  this  silly  farce  and  stole  home  through  the 
empty  streets  with  their  hearts  half  sick  for  shame.  But 
"Hurrah!"  said  the  tavern  loafers  and  the  drunken 
good-for-naughts  of  the  town,  and  waved  their  cups  un- 
til the  dripping  schnapps  made  a  rainbow  shower  over 
their  heads.  What  did  it  matter  to  them?  They  were 
not  trading  for  bearskins.  The  English  might  go  and  he 
hanged.  But  as  to  good  Holland  schnapps,  that  was  an- 
other matter.  They  could  find  a  cask 's  bottom  as  quickly 
as  could  the  next.  So  ' '  Hurrah ! ' '  they  said,  and 
"Hurrah!"  and  filling  up  their  cups,  they  drank  con- 
fusion three  times  three  to  all  who  were  of  a  different 
mind. 

And  there  were  those  of  a  different  mind  in  the  throng 
on  that  narrow  slope.  Some  sneered;  some  stood  with 
stolid  faces  as  though  they  had  been  lifeless  stocks ;  some 
bit  their  lips,  and  with  black  scowls  glowered  at  the  Eng- 
lishmen. But  the  common  herd  filled  up  their  cups  and 
raised  a  husky  cheer. 

A  shout  of  defiance  arose  from  the  decks  of  the  flute- 
ship.  She  swung  about  on  the  running  tide,  and  her 
brown  sails  caught  the  wind.  A  little  ripple  of  sparkling 
foam  danced  about  her  forefoot,  and  from  a  gun  upon 
her  further  aide  sprang  a  quifik  jet  of  smoke.    The  boom 


^6  Barnaby  Lee 

of  a  cannon  rolled  across  the  water,  and  away  went  the 
Bagged  Staff  upstream. 

"Are  the  Englishmen  stopping,  Dirck?"  asked  the 
girl,  whose  face  was  still  white  and  averted. 

"At  the  rate  they  are  stopping  now, "said  Dirck,  bit- 
terly, "they  will  stop  when  they  run  aground." 

"But,  Dirck,  they  must  be  stopping.  They  dare  not 
sail!"  cried  she.  "The  Schout  Fiskaal  bade  them  to 
stand  arrest." 

"Doth  he  talk  cable-chains?" 

The  girl's  face  flushed.  She  turned  and  gazed  across 
the  windy  water,  her  head  thrown  back  and  her  eyes 
snapping. 

"Shame  on  him,  then,"  she  cried,  "to  try  to  play  the 
master  when  he  cannot  even  play  the  man !  If  my  father 
were  here  he  would  make  them  laugh  on  the  other  side  of 
their  mouths. ' ' 

"How?"  said  the  Dutch  boy,  quietly.  "It  is  against 
the  law  to  shoot." 

"Then  fie  on  the  law!"  said  the  girl,  with  contempt. 
"When  the  law  doth  not  suit  my  father,  he  breaketh  it 
until  it  does,  or  until  they  make  him  a  new  one  that  will 
better  serve  the  turn." 

"If  he  breaketh  the  laws  of  New  Amsterdam,"  said  the 
boy,  stolidly,  "we  will  hang  him  like  a  common  thief 
upon  the  gallows-tree." 

"As  ye  have  hanged  these  Englishmen?"  she  said, 
with  a  laugh  of  scorn.  "The  hawks  will  nest  in  the 
pigeon-house  when  ye  have  hanged  my  father!" 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   MAN   FROM   TROUBLESOME    CORNER 

NEXT  morning  the  horn  of  the  ferryman  cried  like 
a  penguin  in  the  mist,  and  by  the  earliest  boat  from 
the  Brooklyn  shore  there  came  in  at  the  water-gate,  along 
the  road  which  skirted  the  town  on  the  east,  a  young  man 
in  a  coat  of  green,  with  a  long  sword  hanging  by  his  side. 

He  wore  a  pair  of  riding-boots  splashed  to  their  tops 
with  mud,  and  over  his  shoulder  hung  a  cloak  lined  with 
rich  brown  fur.  Under  the  flap  of  the  cloak  a  powder- 
flask  and  cut-steel  bullet-pouch  clinked  with  a  sharp,  ag- 
gressive sound  against  the  butts  of  a  pair  of  pistols ;  and 
at  every  stride  the  rowels  of  his  tarnished  silver  spurs 
made  a  little  tinkling  music  at  his  heels. 

He  was  slenderly  built,  but  broad-shouldered  and 
above  the  middle  height,  with  dark  complexion  and  keen 
black  eyes,  his  eyebrows  being  short  and  thick,  bespeak- 
ing a  quick,  high  temper,  but  a  fair,  just  mind.  He  bore 
himself  with  haughty  grace  and  with  some  distinction, 
his  manner  that  of  a  well-bred  man  familiar  with  courts 
yet  used  to  camps,  neither  superfine  nor  over-rough,  but 
self-contained  and  ready ;  and  with  it  all  he  wore  a  mas- 
terful air  that  fitted  him  very  well,  though,  to  judge  from 
the  covert  glances  which  followed  him  as  he  strode  up  the 

47 


48  Barnaby  Lee 

narrow  street,  he  had  small  right,  if  any,  to  play  the  mas- 
ter here. 

As  he  swiftly  moved  along  the  thoroughfare,  he  put 
the  slow  burghers  out  of  his  way  with  the  hand  of  a  man 
who  fears  no  foe,  nor  asks  the  world  for  a  favor. 

"Prut,  mynheer!"  they  cried  as  they  whirled  around, 
but,  seeing  him,  quickly  smoothed  their  eholer,  and  gave 
him  all  the  room  he  wished,  with  no  more  words ;  for  the 
young  man's  look  was  anything  but  peaceful. 

"Ach!  it  is  Gerrit  Van  Sweringen!"  said  one.  "It  is 
the  'Man  from  Troublesome  Corner.'  What  makes  he 
here  so  bold  and  free  with  that  long  sword  ? ' ' 

"They  will  hang  him  yet,"  said  Mynheer  Van  Brugh, 
rubbing  his  shoulder.  "He  hath  a  halter  around  his 
neck  for  one  man's  death  already."  So  the  muttered 
whisper  ran  behind  him  from  door  to  door. 

But  the  sentry  who  stood  yawning  at  the  gate  of  the 
fort  sprang  wide  awake,  and,  standing  as  straight  as  a 
ramrod,  saluted  the  young  man  as  he  came  striding 
across  the  market -field. 

The  stranger's  eyes  flashed  with  anger  as  he  glanced 
quickly  about  the  fort,  for  all  the  place  was  filled  with 
the  look  of  relaxing  discipline.  In  the  guard-room  a 
lonely  light  still  burned,  lonelier  for  the  sunlight  that 
streamed  across  the  floor.  On  a  table,  beside  the  candle, 
stood  an  hour-glass  in  which  all  of  the  sand  was  run 
down ;  and  lolling  between  the  hour-glass  and  the  candle 
was  the  corporal  of  the  guard,  with  his  head  on  his  arms, 
sound  asleep  and  snnrinff. 


The  Troublesome-corner  Man    49 

Van  Sweringen  traversed  the  parade  with  a  frown  on 
his  face.  On  a  door,  midway  down  the  officers'  row,  was 
nailed  a  white  placard  with  a  broad  official  seal.  On  this 
placard,  written  in  a  nervous  hand,  he  read  as  follows: 

Know  Ye  All  Men  by  these  Presents :  it  is  hereby  straitly  charged 
upon  all  burghers  that  henceforth  none  shall  suffer  the  English  to  go 
up  the  river  to  trade  with  the  Savages ;  nay,  nor  in  any  wise  permit 
their  passage  of  the  provided  limits. 

Tearing  the  placard  from  the  nails,  Van  Sweringen 
flung  the  door  wide  open  and  entered. 

A  little  man  in  a  snuff -brown  suit  was  kneeling  by  the 
fireplace,  sealing  a  bulky  packet  with  a  stick  of  yellow 
wax.  He  was  a  thin,  smooth-shaven,  bloodless  man,  with 
narrow  forehead,  slender  jaw,  and  timid  eyes  that 
seemed  to  shrink  into  their  hollow  sockets.  When  peace 
was  piping  in  the  world  and  his  mind  was  free  from 
dread.  Mynheer  Oloff  Van  Ruyter,  the  Colonial  Sec- 
retary, had  a  bold,  brisk  way  about  him  like  a  snuff- 
brown  terrier.  But  let  a  hint  of  trouble  fall,  and  his 
eyes,  though  they  did  their  best,  told  on  him  for  a  coward 
like  a  pair  of  tattle-tales. 

He  was  no  man  of  war,  not  he,  with  his  long  quill-pen 
bristling  behind  his  ear  and  an  inkhom  at  his  girdle; 
no  violent,  bloodthirsty  soldier  he,  but  a  man  of  wit  and 
sagacity,  hired  to  write,  not  to  fight,  but  to  counsel  the 
burgomasters,  and  to  be  next  to  the  Director-General  in 
anj'thing  of  moment. 

The  sudden  draft  across  the  floor  sent  a  cloud  of  white 


ro  Barnaby  Lee 

ashes  whirling  up  into  his  face.  He  sprang  to  his  feet. 
*'Who  Cometh  here?" 

Van  Sweringen  thrust  the  placard  before  him.  ' '  What 
farce  is  this?"  he  exclaimed.  "What  pitiful,  silly- 
farce,  mynheer  ?  To  build  a  dike  of  broken  straws  when 
the  sea  is  already  in  ? " 

Mynheer  Van  Ruyter  shrank  back  against  the  chim- 
ney-jamb as  if  some  one  had  thrown  cold  water  in  his 
face. 

* '  Fie ! ' '  cried  Van  Sweringen,  with  a  passionate  quiver 
in  his  voice,  ' '  couldst  thou  not  once  have  played  the  man 
for  but  the  compass  of  a  little  day?"  Stripping  the 
placard  into  bits,  he  threw  it  into  the  fire. 

The  Secretary  edged  away  until  the  table  was  well 
between  them.  ' '  Mynheer, ' '  he  stammered,  ' '  be  calm !  I 
pray  you,  seat  yourself.  We  will  converse  upon  the  sub- 
ject ;  but  be  moderate,  I  pray ! ' ' 

"Moderate?"  cried  Van  Sweringen,  flinging  his  hands 
about  wildly.  "Be  moderate?  And  let  men  wipe  their 
feet  on  me  ?  Why,  mynheer,  thine  heart  is  mush ;  if  thou 
wert  right  well  stabbed  it  might  put  iron  into  thy  soul ! '  * 

' '  God  forbid ! ' '  gasped  the  Secretary,  wringing  his 
thin  white  hands.  "Mynheer  Van  Sweringen  is  pleased 
to  jest. ' ' 

* '  Be  not  so  sure.  I  am  pleased  to  be  most  deadly  ear- 
nest ! ' '  His  sword  rattled  against  the  chairs  as  he  strode 
up  and  down  the  room.  "But  enough.  Hath  he  re- 
turned?" 

"He?    Who?     His  Excellency?    Nay,  mynheer;  the 


I 


The  Troublesome-corner  Man     51 

Director-General  is  still  at  Fort  Orange;  they  have 
pressing  need  of  him. ' ' 

*'To  scrape  the  bottom  of  the  pot  while  the  English 
steal  our  porridge!  Oh,  ay,"  cried  Van  Sweringen, 
wrathfully.  "A  plague  upon  Fort  Orange!  Where  is 
Captain  Martin  Kregier?" 

"Across  the  Esopus,  mynheer,  with  a  vengeance  upon 
the  savages  for  murdering  Jan  Verhulst." 

The  young  man  stopped  short  in  his  furious  stride  and 
looked  at  the  Secretary.  "Then  there  is  a  vengeance 
gone  to  waste ;  it  is  needed  much  nearer  home.  Where  's 
Ensign  Derrick  Schmidt?"  His  voice  snapped  like  a 
whip-cracker. 

The  Secretary's  breath  grew  short;  he  edged  toward 
the  inner  door.  "Mynheer,  he  hath  gone  away,  too," 
he  stammered,  "on  a  cruise  through  Hell  Gate  to  the 
Red  Hill,  in  the  Sea  Bear,  with  Pieter  Lourensen,  to 
catch  Jan  Applegate,  the  smuggler." 

Van  Sweringen  struck  the  table  with  his  fist  so  fierce 
a  blow  that  the  ink  in  the  well  sprang  up  like  a  fountain. 
"Play,  mice!"  he  cried  bitterly;  "the  cat  is  away! 
Gone?  Gone?  Hath  everybody  gone,  and  left  thee  in 
supreme  control?— thee  and  this  puffed  anatomy  that 
calleth  itself  the  Schout  Fiskaal?  Oh,  what  hath  so 
wormed  our  manliness  that  thieving  rogues  may  mock 
us  at  our  doors  unscathed  ?  Shame  on  the  man  who  calls 
himself  Dutch,  yet  dares  not  lift  finger  for  the  honor  of 
the  name !  Oh,  for  a  day's  authority !  Oh,  for  a  warrant ! 
These  Englishmen  should  pay  a  price  for  their  insolence. 


52  Barnaby  Lee 

By  tiie  Red  Lion  of  Flanders,  they  shall  be  made  to 
pay!" 

The  door  crashed  heavily  behind  him ;  the  smoke  sucked 
down  the  chimney,  and  the  ashes  and  live  coals  flew  out 
into  the  room.  The  Secretary  leaned  against  the  table, 
limp  and  pale.  "The  saints  preserve  us,"  he  gasped, 
"from  all  such  rapier-rattling,  scapegrace  firebrands!" 

But  ' '  What  there,  Jan  Reyndertsen ! ' '  the  young  man 
called,  beating  upon  the  master  gunner's  door.  "Jan 
Reyndertsen,  what  ho!"  And  out  into  the  town  he 
went,  with  the  red-haired  master  gunner  at  his  heels,  and 
straightway  mustered  what  stout  hearts  were  among  the 
freemen  of  New  Amsterdam:  enough  for  his  purpose — 
sixty-odd  brown  sailors,  broad-shouldered  boors,  a  score 
of  soldiers  who  had  come  in  the  Gekruyste  Hart,  and 
fourteen  free  companions  who  had  landed  from  the 
Beaver  on  their  own  wild  hook. 

A  yacht  like  a  Spanish  caravel  lay  in  the  North  River, 
unlading  Tappan  stone  for  the  new  city  wall;  and  at 
the  established  anchorage,  beyond  the  finger-post  at 
Copsey  Hook,  lay  a  pinnace,  a  roomy  shallop,  and  a  hoy 
with  bright  red  sails.  They  laid  hands  upon  the  yacht, 
the  pinnace,  and  the  hoy,  and  taking  a  bell-mouthed 
musketoon  from  the  shallop,  they  set  it  on  a  swivel  in  the 
bow  of  the  pinnace,  and  loaded  it  to  the  muzzle  with  slugs 
and  duck-shot.  Then,  when  the  tide  was  coming  in,  the 
troop  of  adventurers,  armed  to  the  teeth  with  half-pikes, 
bills,  swords,  firelock  muskets,  dirks,  and  flintlock  pistols, 
embarked  in  their  flotilla,  with  a  brisk  wind  blowing 
astern,  and  followed  the  Ragged  Staff'  up  the  river. 


The  Troublesome-corner  Man     r^ 

John  King  and  his  crew  had  established  themselves  at 
the  month  of  a  little  stream  on  the  west  shore  of  the  river, 
thirty  miles  above  its  month,  and  already  had  collected 
a  quantity  of  furs.  With  fools'  assurance,  they  had  left 
their  arms  aboard  the  vessel,  and  were  sitting  at  dinner 
among  the  trees,  when  the  Dutch,  who  had  disembarked 
below  and  had  come  craftily  up  through  the  woods, 
burst  upon  them  with  a  shout,  and  took  them  captive, 
every  man,  without  so  much  as  a  single  shot  or  a  stab 
from  a  dinner-knife,  though  there  were,  in  truth,  some 
thumping  blows  in  the  sailing-master's  comer. 

Trussing  their  prisoners  up  like  fowls,  the  Dutch  car- 
ried them  aboard  the  Ragged  Staf,  and  sounded  a  trum- 
pet in  triumph  over  them  as  they  lay  fuming  upon  the 
deck.  Then  they  weighed  their  anchors  and  set  sail,  with 
spruce-trees  at  their  mastheads  and  with  cedar-boughs 
stuck  all  about  their  craft,  and  brought  the  Englishmen 
down  the  river  to  the  gates  of  New  Amsterdam,  making 
exceedingly  merry. 

When  they  had  come  to  the  city,  they  moored  the  Rag- 
ged Staff  at  the  customs  landing  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Ileere  Gracht,  the  canal  which  came  down  through  the 
town  upon  the  East  River  side,  and  having  thoroughly 
searched  her  for  any  license  to  trade,  and  finding  none, 
they  took  out  of  her  all  her  cargo,  to  the  last  ten-penny 
nail,  and  confiscated  it  as  forfeit  under  the  law;  which 
done,  they  sent  the  English  picaroon  foaming  out  to  sea 
again  without  so  much  as  a  grain  in  his  powder-chest 
with  which  to  seek  for  revenge. 


54  Barnaby  Lee 

Thus  life  plays  at  see-saw.  Fate  is  jack,  and  the  whole 
world  teeter-totters.  The  English  came,  the  English 
went;  the  Dutch  laughed  last.  The  day  passed  into  ob- 
livion—was as  soon  forgotten  in  other  days  as  though  it 
had  never  been ;  yet  to  the  heart  of  one  boy  it  seemed  the 
peak  of  all  eternity. 

For  when  Captain  John  King  footed  up  his  costs,  he 
found  that  last,  but  by  no  means  least,  his  cabin-boy 
was  gone. 


CHAPTER  VI 

IN   THE   WILDERNESS 

THE  fire  smoked  for  a  little  while  among  the  fern 
where  the  English  traders'  camp  had  been.  By- 
times  it  blazed  up  fitfully,  but  gradually  dying  out,  it 
left  but  burned  logs  crumbling  into  a  heap  of  cold  white 
ashes. 

Here  and  there  the  underbrush  that  had  been  broken  in 
the  fight  straightened  itself  out  slowly.  The  uneasy  hush 
which  precedes  a  storm  was  over  everything.  The  smoke 
crept  down  the  hollow  in  a  thin  blue  cloud.  It  grew  a 
little  darker,  and  the  forest-trees  began  to  sigh.  The 
wind  which  was  gathering  on  the  heights  murmured  like 
a  distant  sea.  It  was  a  lonely  spot  indeed  since  the  Eng- 
lish trading  crew  was  gone,  but  to  the  English  cabin- 
boy  who  crouched  among  the  spruces  it  seemed  a  very 
paradise. 

He  arose  at  last  from  his  hiding-place  among  the  whis- 
pering branches,  and  stole  silently  down  through  the 
little  clearing,  looking  warily  here  and  there,  and  listen- 
ing intently  through  the  faint,  far  noises  of  the  wood 
for  any  telltale  human  sound.  Everything  was  quiet: 
like  himself,  the  forest  seemed  to  listen. 

He  looked  about  him  wonderingly,  as  if  in  doubt  that 

55 


56  Barnaby  Lee 

it  all  was  real,  then  hesitatingly  touched  a  tree  with  his 
hand,  to  be  sure  it  was  not  a  dream.  Then  suddenly  he 
laughed,  and  falling  upon  his  knees,  he  ran  his  fingers 
through  the  grass-blades.  "I  've  come  ashore  at  last ! ' ' 
he  said.  "Please  God,  I  've  come  ashore!"  And  pat- 
ting the  earth  as  if  it  were  living,  he  began  to  dig  into  the 
soft  black  mold  with  eagerly  delving  fingers. 

There,  in  the  mold,  were  slender  roots  tightly  matted 
together,  a  small  brown  beetle,  some  worm-eaten  acorns, 
an  empty  snail-shell,  and  a  crumbling  chrysalis  long 
since  deserted. 

Clapping  his  hands,  he  rubbed  the  earth  between  his 
quivering  fingers,  and  catching  up  a  handful  of  it,  he 
smelled  it  with  a  long-drawn  breath.  It  had  a  scent  of 
withered  leaves  and  dampness,  of  humid  earth,  and  of 
clean,  sweet  decay,  with  a  fleeting  breath  of  pennyroyal 
and  a  little  odor  of  spicy  roots.  Then  he  laughed  again, 
for  a  clod  of  earth  is  sweeter  than  a  rose  to  a  man  who 
iias  been  four  years  upon  the  sea.  Springing  nimbly 
to  his  feet,  he  capered  about  and  leaped  upon  the 
turf,  as  if  rejoicing  just  to  feel  the  solid  ground  under 
him. 

Here  and  there  the  underwood  was  starred  with  wild 
snowdrops,  and  between  the  roots  of  the  beech-trees 
wind-flowers  waved.  He  ran  about  and  looked  at  them, 
touched  them  softly,  made  a  little  garden  about  each 
group,  and  having  done  so,  stood  up  and  bowed  to  them 
as  if  they  were  the  fairest  of  high-born  dames  attired  in 
tiffany,  and  as  if  the  dark  wood  were  a  king's  court. 


In  the  Wilderness  S7 

Then  he  danced  a  hornpipe  around  the  glen,  in  a  limping, 
comical  way. 

The  buds  upon  the  trees  were  out  in  tufts  and  yellow 
tassels;  and  in  the  outer  forks  of  a  drooping  bough  he 
found  a  deserted  bird's  nest  of  grasses  and  moss,  half 
raveled  out,  but  still  containing  a  speckled  feather  and 
part  of  a  broken  egg-shell.  He  cut  a  dido  over  the  rocks. 
* '  My  word,  the  wood-birds  lay  blue  eggs  just  as  they  did 
in  England ! "  he  said.  And  with  that  he  turned  a  hand- 
spring, ending  in  a  heap,  and  lay  there  laughing  gaily  at 
himself  for  tumbling  on  his  head. 

Thus  for  a  time  he  made  holiday,  stirring  among  the 
rocks,  exploring  secret  places,  reviewing  the  things  he 
already  knew,  and  discovering  fresh  wonders.  For  a  lit- 
tle while  his  paradise  was  paradise  indeed. 

But  the  silence  wore  upon  him  unaware,  and  although 
he  knew  not  that  it  did,  the  vastness  of  the  solitude  op- 
pressed him.  He  missed  the  men's  voices,  the  tread  of 
feet,  and  the  constant  stir  of  human  life  about  him.  He 
listened  unconsciously  for  the  accustomed  sounds,  and 
the  sense  of  their  absence  filled  him  more  and  more.  The 
loneliness  in  the  forest  seemed  to  gather  around  as  the 
shadows  gather  about  the  room  when  the  fire  bums  low, 
and  all  at  once,  as  he  looked  about  the  dim  glen,  the  deso- 
lation of  the  place  came  over  him  like  a  chill. 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  crying,  **What  shall  I  do?" 

A  scattering  rain  was  beginning  to  fall  and  to  patter 
upon  the  old  dead  leaves.  As  though  he  had  been  sud- 
denly wakened,  he  stared  around  the  glen,  then  ran  down 


58  Barnaby  Lee 

quickly  to  the  river-brink,  and  stared  across  the  wide 
expanse  of  waters;  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen— 
no  boat,  nor  man,  nor  living  thing. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  he  said. 

There  came  a  stirring  in  the  wood.  He  lifted  his  head 
and  hearkened.  It  was  only  the  hurry  of  the  wind. 
There  was  no  other  sound  except  the  rushing  of  the  river 
and  the  stealthy  fingering  of  the  waves  among  the  little 
stones. 

Then  a  flock  of  wild  geese  passed.  He  saw  them  for  a 
moment  through  the  gathering  mist ;  then  they  were  gone. 
Nothing  was  left  of  them  but  their  strange,  hoarse 
clamor,  dying  behind  them  as  they  fled. 

The  rain  was  now  coming  down  steadily,  and  it  was 
growing  cold.  He  pulled  his  shirt  across  his  breast,  and 
hurrying  up  the  bank,  he  stirred  among  the  burned  logs 
to  find  a  live  coal.  One  fickle  spark  ran  out  and  danced 
along  the  edge  of  a  charred  leaf.  Then  it  was  gone  like 
the  snap  of  a  finger.  He  blew  until  his  thin  cheeks 
ached,  but  all  in  vain.    The  fire  was  out. 

Yet  still  he  raked  among  the  ashes  awhile,  and  warmed 
his  fingers  on  the  steaming  ground,  staring  into  the  un- 
derbrush and  saying  over  and  over  again,  "Whatever 
shall  I  do?"  as  if  it  were  a  text  that  had  been  set  for 
him  to  learn,  or  a  riddle  which  he  must  guess  or  pay  a 
forfeit. 

Look  upon  it  as  he  would,  there  was  no  denying  the 
fact  that  he  had  fallen  into  desperate  straits  and  danger 
of  his  life. 


In  the  Wilderness  59 

From  the  sailing-master's  charts  he  had  some  know- 
ledge of  the  country,  and  he  knew  that  the  land  about  him 
was  a  trackless  wilderness,  inhabited  by  savage  beasts 
and  by  still  more  savage  men;  that  the  ground  upon 
which  he  now  stood  was  the  land  of  the  Mohegans,  a  tribe 
of  the  Algonquins,  who  were  kings  of  all  the  coast;  and 
that  to  the  south  of  their  marches  lay  the  land  of  the 
Hackensacks  and  the  kingdoms  of  the  Seven  Sea-coast 
Tribes,  blood-kin  to  the  Lenni-Lenape.  And,  further 
than  this,  he  knew  that  since  Captain  John  Underbill 
and  the  Dutch  had  slaughtered  the  Siwanoys  as  they 
gathered  to  their  New  Year's  feast  a  short  twelvemonth 
before,  woe  worth  the  day  to  the  white  man  who  fell  into 
the  hands  of  the  vengeful  sea-coast  savages  or  any  of 
their  kin. 

Prom  the  Dutch  he  could  hope  for  no  aid.  They 
would  hang  him  for  a  picaroon.  He  might  as  well  ask 
comfort  from  a  monument  as  from  the  stubborn  Dutch. 
Holland  was  England 's  enemy  by  land  as  well  as  by  sea ; 
and  though  he  knew  that  the  nations  were  professedly 
at  peace,  peace  was  mockery  when  men  were  at  one  an- 
other's throats  like  dogs  over  a  bone. 

There  was  nothing  left  for  him  to  do  but  to  face  the 
venture  to  the  end,  and  to  play  his  part  out  like  a  man. 

With  which  reflection  he  began  to  cast  calculating  eyes 
about  the  glen  to  see  if  there  had  been  left  anything  of 
comfort  or  assistance. 

Two  shattered  crates  lay  tilted  on  end  in  the  hazel 
copse,    and   over   the   ground   were   scattered   tobacco- 


6o  Barnaby  Lee 

shreds,  the  shards  of  a  broken  pot,  a  wooden  platter  split 
in  halves,  glass  beads  glittering  in  the  grass;  and  at  his 
feet,  among  the  ashes,  trodden  under  foot  and  charred 
by  the  fire,  lay  a  piece  of  broken  biscuit  and  two  half- 
eaten  herring.  He  picked  them  up,  and  cleaning  them 
from  broken  twigs  and  ashes,  thrust  them  safe  into  the 
bosom  of  his  shirt. 

It  was  coming  into  his  head  now  that  if  he  could  but 
reach  the  coast,  steer  clear  of  the  savages,  and  maintain 
a  steady  course  toward  the  south,  he  must  in  time  come 
to  the  borders  of  Virginia  or  upon  the  shores  of  Mary- 
land, and  there  find  aid.  He  had  heard  how  David  In- 
gram, when  set  ashore  in  the  Bay  of  Mexico  a  hundred 
years  before,  had  crossed  the  wild  New  World  on  foot 
by  following  the  Indian  paths,  and  had  come  in  safety, 
through  great  peril,  to  St.  John's  River,  whence  he  had 
taken  ship  for  France,  and  so  had  returned  to  his  own; 
and  the  boy  was  now  determined  to  adventure  if  he 
might  not  do  the  same  in  his  degree. 

How  wild  and  chimerical  his  plan  was  he  was  to  find 
out  soon  enough;  but  having  been  so  long  at  sea,  where 
a  man's  footing  moves  forward  under  him  as  he  goes, 
and  the  busy  wind  does  all  the  work  save  merely  the  trav- 
ersing of  the  deck,  he  had  lost  all  sense  of  distances  by 
land,  and  guessed  at  them  as  wildly  as  a  child.  Yet  sim- 
ply making  up  his  mind  encouraged  him. 

It  was  now  too  late  to  venture  through  the  wilderness. 
The  darkness  was  increasing  rapidly  and  the  night  was 
falling  fast.    He  found  a  sheltered  hollow  beneath  the 


In  the  Wilderness  6 1 

shelving  rocks,  and  snuggling  deep  among  the  drifted 
leaves,  he  commended  himself  to  the  mercy  of  God,  and 
soon  fell  asleep. 

At  first  he  slumbered  heavily,  but,  as  the  night  wore 
on,  from  time  to  time  he  half  awoke  and  shivered  with 
the  cold.  But  cold  was  an  accustomed  thing  to  an  Eng- 
lish cabin-boy;  so  he  only  burrowed  deeper  among  the 
withered  leaves,  and  peered  from  his  snug  harbor  into  the 
pit-mirk  night. 

The  rain  came  down  in  torrents,  and  the  trees  rocked 
in  the  gale;  yet  despite  the  fury  of  the  storm  the  world 
was  strangely  silent.  Aboard  ship  such  a  night  would 
wake  a  thousand  sounds.  The  waves  would  boom 
against  the  strakes;  the  bulkheads  would  creak  and 
groan ;  the  masts  would  all  spring  wildly  with  the  strain ; 
at  every  plunge  the  hold  would  crack  with  the  shifting  of 
the  cargo,  and  at  every  blow  the  drum-like  decks  would 
boom.  But  here  in  the  trackless  wilderness  there  seemed 
a  solemn  hush,  a  great,  majestic  silence  which  even  the 
roar  of  the  storm  assailed  in  vain,  a  stillness  somber  and 
undisturbed,  yet  full  of  wild  forest  noises:  the  barking 
of  foxes,  the  whimper  of  owls,  and  now  and  then,  far  off 
and  drear,  a  long-drawn  howl  that  made  the  boy  grip 
hard  upon  the  knife  at  his  belt  and  stare  into  the 
darkness. 

Sometime  within  the  passing  night  he  felt  the  pinch  of 
hunger,  and  sitting  up  among  the  leaves,  he  leaned 
against  the  rock  and  ate  a  bite  or  two  of  herring  and  a 
piece  of  biscuit.     It  was  still  raining  heavily,  and  he 


62  Barnaby  Lee 

could  smell  the  mist  from  the  river ;  and  though  the  wind 
■was  broken  by  the  forest  about  him,  he  could  hear  it 
howling  wildly  overhead  in  an  increasing  gale. 

Again,  for  a  while,  he  slept;  then,  although  the  night 
was  far  from  spent,  he  awoke  and  could  sleep  no  more, 
but  through  the  blinding  darkness  watched  for  the  dawn. 

A  dismal  daybreak  came  at  last.  The  earth  was 
drenched,  the  gale  still  held,  and  the  sky  was  overcast. 
A  fitful  rain  was  falling,  mingled  with  flying  gusts  of 
snow.  ' '  God  help  me ! "  said  the  cabin-boy ;  "  it  is  a  bit- 
ter morning!"  And  kneeling  down  beneath  the  over- 
hanging stone,  he  prayed  that  his  heart  might  be  made 
strong  to  meet  the  perils  of  his  journey. 

Then,  like  a  soldier  for  the  fray,  he  girt  himself  anew, 
drew  in  his  sash,  set  his  knife  free,  and  folding  his  red 
handkerchief,  bound  it  around  his  yellow  locks  like  a  tur- 
ban, so  that  his  long,  matted  hair  might  not  blind  his  eyes 
nor  blow  into  his  nostrils.  As  he  did  so  he  shivered  with 
the  cold.    '  *  The  fiend  is  in  the  wind ! "  he  said. 

Then  creeping  out  of  his  hiding-place  into  the  drifting 
rain,  he  struck  out  bravely  southward  into  the  wilder- 
ness. 


CHAPTER  VII 

IN  DESPERATE   STRAITS 

THREE  days,  three  nights,  he  struggled  through  an 
unkindly  country,  worn  out  by  constant  tripping, 
and  bruised  by  many  a  heavy  fall,  drenched  with  the 
rain,  beaten  by  the  wind,  and  pierced  to  the  heart  by  the 
benumbing  cold. 

As  long  as  there  was  light  to  see,  he  held  a  southward 
course  by  the  moss  upon  the  trees.  Toward  the  last  he 
hurried  on  at  random  through  the  woods  even  after  dark- 
ness had  settled  upon  the  world,  and  when  his  waning 
strength  gave  out  and  he  could  trudge  no  farther,  he 
sought  within  some  hollow  tree  or  under  the  overhanging 
rock  for  any  place  where  he  might  find  shelter  from  the 
storm. 

He  had  soon  come  to  the  end  of  his  store  of  ship-biscuit 
and  herring ;  for  a  stomach  gnawed  by  hunger  is  a  hard 
thing  to  deny.  Then  he  gathered  hips  from  the  wild- 
rose  trees  which  grew  among  the  cliffs,  dug  up  old  nuts 
from  under  the  leaves,  and  ate  the  buds  of  trees,  drinking 
great  draughts  at  every  stream,  so  that  his  stomach  might 
be  filled  and  stop  its  hungry  crying. 

On  the  third  night  of  his  wandering  the  howling  of  the 
wolves  came  nearer  through  the  valley  than  it  had  ever 

63 


^ 


64  Barnaby  Lee 

come  before.  For  fear  of  it  he  dared  not  sleep  upon  the 
ground;  so  he  climbed  into  a  spreading  elm-tree,  and 
dangled  in  its  branches  until  the  racking  of  his  limbs 
outgrew  the  fear  of  death;  then  he  dropped  into  the 
brush  below,  and  under  the  cover  of  a  rock  fell  into  a  fit- 
ful slumber  and  dreamed  of  Maryland. 

In  the  night  it  rained  again,  but  he  still  slept  on: 
within  his  dream  it  was  summer-time,  and  everything 
was  bright.  Day  dawned  at  last.  It  was  a  bleak,  cold 
dawn.  He  wakened  with  a  start,  for  his  thoughts  were 
still  away  in  dreamland,  and  he  knew  not  where  he  was. 

The  wind  had  veered  to  the  westward ;  it  blew  in  tear- 
ing, changeful  gusts,  and  the  air  was  filled  with  great 
snowflakes  which  melted  as  they  fell. 

He  was  stiff  and  sore  and  feverish,  and  his  head  spun 
dizzily ;  but  as  soon  as  it  was  light  he  was  up  and  away 
again,  by  hill  and  dale,  through  baffling  woods  and  little 
open  glades  which  stood  waist-deep  in  withered  grass 
and  tangled  wild-pea  vines. 

Once,  in  hope  of  better  faring,  he  ventured  toward  the 
west ;  but  coming  upon  a  swollen  stream  too  wide  to  swim 
and  too  deep  to  wade,  he  turned  again,  and  after  that 
maintained  his  course  midway  between  the  river  and  the 
heights  which  ranged  the  east  as  far  as  his  eye  could 
reach. 

The  pine  woods  had  now  given  way  to  elm,  ash,  and 
oak,  lofty  walnuts,  hoary  yews,  and  hedgy  evergreens, 
from  which  the  water  splashed  upon  him  as  he  ran.  He 
passed  many  herds  of  deer,  which  stared  at  him  wonder-. 


In  Desperate  Straits  6^ 

ingly,  and  sniffed  with  whistling  nostrils  at  the  slender 
figure  struggling  always  southward  through  the  forest, 
desolate,  weary,  and  well-nigh  spent,  yet  still,  like  a  soli- 
tary star  that  may  not  swerve,  pursuing  its  way  through 
the  wilderness  toward  an  unknown  goal. 

Spring  had  come,  though  winter's  grip  still  held  upon 
the  world.  Everywhere  about  him  animate  nature  was 
astir.  Out  of  the  thickets  the  rabbits  popped  into  their 
earthy  tunnels;  paddling  beavers  plunged  head-first 
among  the  willows ;  a  bearded  lynx,  with  tufted  ears  and 
eyes  like  cold  green  lanterns,  sprang  up  from  a  rabbit  it 
had  slain,  and  arching  its  back  like  a  monster  cat,  spat 
at  him  savagely  as  he  went  by ;  but  the  boy  was  past  all 
common  fear,  and  was  too  weak  to  wonder. 

How  far  he  had  come  he  did  not  know:  it  seemed  a 
thousand  miles ;  still,  he  had  not  reached  the  sea,  nor  even 
heard  its  roar. 

Coming  upon  a  rock  which  heaved  its  head  above  the 
forest,  he  scrambled  to  its  summit  by  the  wild-grape 
vines  growing  upon  it,  and  hanging  there,  all  out  of 
breath  and  trembling  with  exertion,  he  sought  the  hori- 
zon for  any  sign  of  cheer.  For  surely  he  must  be  upon 
the  borders  of  Virginia;  Maryland  must  lie  somewhere 
just  beyond  those  gray,  misty  dells ! 

But  alas !  whichever  way  he  turned,  the  forest  lay  un- 
broken on  the  cloudy  heights  which  faded  against  the 
sky,  lonely  to  the  utmost  valley,  lonely  to  the  farthest 
verge  of  the  last  gray  ridge  that  stretched  away  and  was 
lost  in  the  falling  rain.    There  was  no  trace  of  hut  nor 

8 


66  Barnaby  Lee 

of  house,  no  vestige  of  home  nor  of  habitation ;  there  was 
no  sign  of  human  life  in  all  that  dreary  waste.  He 
turned  his  ashy  face  away,  for  the  first  time  utterly 
despairing,  and  the  scalding  tears  rolled  down  his 
cheeks. 

When  he  had  come  again  to  the  foot  of  the  rock,  he  sat 
down  on  a  stone  and  looked  at  his  hands  and  his  trem- 
bling knees  for  a  moment  silently.  Then  said  he:  "I 
am  'most  nigh  done  for."  He  spoke  quite  cheerily,  and 
looked  up  with  a  little  smile,  as  though  some  one  were 
with  him.  Then  he  wiped  his  face  on  the  sleeve  of  his 
shirt,  and  rubbed  his  hands  together  in  a  clinging,  tired 
sort  of  way,  and  looked  at  them  again.  His  fingers  were 
wrinkled  and  puckered  up  like  a  washerwoman's  hands. 
"The  rain  has  shriveled  'em,"  said  he.  ''Why  does  n't 
it  shrivel  my  stomach,  too?"  For  in  a  man's  despair 
there  comes  a  place  where  tears  seem  turned  to  laughter, 
and  grief  becomes  a  commonplace  scarcely  worth  a 
body's  while.  The  boy's  heart  lay  within  his  breast  like 
a  crumpled  leaf:  he  now  was  in  sad  case  indeed  and 
knew  not  what  to  do. 

Yet  after  a  little  while  he  got  up  and  started  off  again, 
walking  along  as  quietly  as  if  upon  pleasure  bent,  and  as 
if  it  made  no  difference  whether  he  arrived  or  not.  De- 
spair had  come  upon  him  like  a  stupor. 

At  times  he  stopped  and  looked  about,  humming  a 
fragment  of  a  tune;  then  again  he  fell  to  listening  as 
though  he  were  amused  by  something,  for  there  was  an 
incessant  humming  in  his  ears  like  a  hundred  busy  bee- 


In  Desperate  Straits  67 

hives,  and  he  could  not  tell  if  it  was  the  wind,  or  a  fever, 
or  the  sea. 

His  knees  were  shaking,  and  his  strength  was  fast  fail- 
ing; he  was  growing  so  unstrung  from  hunger  and  fa- 
tigue that  he  thought  he  heard  strange  whisperings  all 
around  him:  first  John  King's  voice,  then  the  lookout's 
hail,  and  then  his  father's  laughter.  At  that  he  gave 
a  sudden  cry,  and  springing  into  the  air,  he  began  to  run 
as  though  his  feet  had  never  known  fatigue. 

How  far  he  ran  he  did  not  know,  nor  whither  he  waa 
going.  The  woods  grew  thinner  as  he  went,  and  the  hills 
came  narrowing  in;  the  western  valley  sank  into  reedy 
swamps  and  marshes.  He  crossed  a  winding  Indian  trail 
which  ran  among  the  uneven  hills ;  he  passed  a  jagged  lit- 
tle cliff  all  copper-green  and  white ;  he  had  come  he  never 
knew  how  far.  His  throat  was  as  dry  as  dust;  his  feet 
made  a  pounding  sound,  like  a  drum,  in  his  head;  his 
tattered  sandals  dragged  on  the  ground;  and  his  knees 
were  giving  way.  Yet  still  he  was  scudding  southward 
like  a  sea-bird  back  to  the  sea,  when  suddenly  he  came 
out  of  the  woods  on  the  verge  of  the  dwindling  hills,  and 
stopped  with  a  shrill,  startled  cry.  His  journeying  was 
done! 

Before  him  was  nothing  but  a  wilderness  of  fens 
through  which  there  was  no  thoroughfare  except  for  the 
water-fowl. 

"God  save  me  now!"  he  whispered,  falling  on  his 
knees,  *  *  God  save  me  !  I  can  go  no  farther :  all  the  land 
is  fallen  down  into  the  black  morass !    Dear  Jesus,  save 


68  Barnaby  Lee 

me,  lest  I  die !  I  am  only  a  boy,  and  I  ha'  done  my  best; 
I  cannot  do  no  more ! ' ' 

Far  off  and  faint,  across  the  marsh  came  a  sound  like 
a  sheep-bell  ringing  on  the  hills  upon  a  summer  morning : 
clink,  clink,  clink!    It  ceased,  and  everything  was  still. 

The  boy  looked  up ;  his  cheeks  were  flushed,  and  his 
dazed  eyes  grew  bright  and  wild. 

Far  off,  and  thin  as  air,  the  sound  of  a  girl's  voice, 
singing,  came  through  the  troubled  wind. 

Clasping  his  hands,  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  ran  stag- 
gering down  the  slope.  "Oh,  where?"  he  cried, 
"where?" 

The  wind  was  blowing  from  the  west;  the  clouds  had 
begun  to  break  away,  and  through  the  opening  rifts  the 
setting  sun  was  shining. 

"  Ahoy !"  cried  the  cabin-boy ;  but  his  voice  was  hoarse 
and  weak.  "Ahoy!  Ahoy !"  he  shouted ;  but  his  feeble 
shout  blew  out  like  a  candle  in  the  wind.  * '  Ahoy ! "  he 
cried  again,  but  there  was  no  reply. 

He  leaned  against  a  tree  and  hid  his  face  in  his  hands : 
it  was  all  but  part  and  parcel  with  the  voices  he  had 
heard  in  the  wood ! 


CHAPTER  VIII 


A   GENTLEMAN   IN   SCARLET 


ON  the  north  shore  of  the  Potomac  River,  in  the  an- 
cient province  of  Maryland,  on  the  eve  of  the  feast 
of  St.  James  the  Just,  1664,  a  vessel  dropped  her  anchor, 
two  miles  west  of  St.  Inigoes  inlet,  and  let  her  stern- 
boat  down.  Beyond  the  vessel's  anchoring-ground  stood 
a  ridge  of  high  land  overlooking  the  river,  and  crested 
with  dark  pine-trees.  Below  the  ridge  lay  an  inlet,  run- 
ning westward  from  the  main  stream,  and  ending  in  a 
hollow  through  which  a  brook  ran  down  from  the  hills. 
The  mouth  of  the  inlet  lay  concealed  behind  a  little 
island,  making  an  ideal  place  for  a  quiet  rendezvous. 
There  were  some  persons,  two  centuries  ago,  who  were 
apparently  of  this  opinion,  for,  the  ship's  boat  being 
lowered,  a  boat's  crew,  with  the  captain  following  them, 
rattled  down  the  stem-ladder  into  her  and  struck  out 
for  the  inlet. 

The  night  was  cold  for  the  season,  and  dimly  lighted 
by  a  crescent  moon.  The  orchards  and  meadows  on  the 
upland  were  pale  in  the  feeble  moonshine,  and  close  un- 
der the  edge  of  the  pine  wood  the  roof  of  a  great  house, 
dark  as  pitch,  shone  with  a  ghostly  glimmer. 

The  waters  of  the  inlet  below  sparkled  faintly  in  the 

69 


JO  Barnaby  Lee 

mist,  and  here  and  there  along  the  low  hills  the  silence 
of  the  early  night  was  broken  by  the  lonely  hooting  of 
owls.  All  at  once  the  owls  ceased  hooting,  and  from  the 
upland  a  footstep  came  hurrying  down  through  the 
hollow  by  a  path  winding  along  the  brook.  The  step 
came  quickly  through  the  wood,  until,  beneath  where  the 
branches  overhead  drew  back  and  let  the  stars  shine 
through,  it  ceased  beside  a  giant  sycamore,  and  there, 
distinctly  outlined  against  the  massive  trunk,  stood  a 
tall  man,  wrapped  in  a  long  black  cloak,  listening  in- 
tently. 

For  an  instant  he  stood,  hearkening  to  the  wind,  and 
to  the  distant  sound  of  oars,  like  a  pulse-throb  in  the 
stillness.  The  throbbing  neared  until  the  grind  of  the 
oars  against  the  tholes  could  be  distinctly  heard ;  then  the 
listener  put  his  fingers  to  his  lips  and  whistled  shrilly. 

The  sound  of  rowing  ceased  instantly;  a  bubbling 
ripple  of  water  could  be  heard  along  the  bows  of  the  un- 
seen boat ;  the  long  oars  thumped  a  little  as  the  oarsmen 
backed  water.  "Hullo!"  said  a  harsh  voice;  "who  's 
there?" 

"I,"  said  the  man  in  the  long  cloak.  "Under  the  big 
sycamore.    Come  in  here." 

The  man  who  sat  in  the  stern  of  the  boat  lifted  a  lan- 
tern over  his  head.  Its  flame  was  dull  and  glowed  like  a 
smoky  will-o'-the-wisp. 

"Now  what  's  the  good  of  a  light?"  called  the  voice 
from  the  shore.  "There  's  no  good  of  a  light;  put  it 
out." 


A  Gentleman  in  Scarlet        71 

**I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  do!"  was  the  gruff  rejoinder. 
"I  'm  not  coming  in  here  to  smash  on  a  rock.  I  can't 
see  in  the  dark ;  I  'm  no  cat.  Look  alive,  Andy  Hume ; 
fend  us  off  there ! ' '  The  boat  came  ashore  with  a  little 
swash,  and  lay  rocking  gently  to  and  fro. 

She  was  a  yawl  that  had  seen  hard  service ;  her  bearing- 
tholes  were  deeply  worn,  and  her  thwarts  were  water- 
bleached  and  splintered. 

The  man  who  was  sitting  in  the  stern  got  up  quickly, 
lantern  in  hand,  and  clambered  out  of  the  yawl.  "Get 
the  stuff  ashore,  Yadkin,"  he  said,  "and  shove  her  off; 
don't  leave  her  grind.  Where  are  ye  going?"  he  called 
to  a  sailor  who  had  started  off  along  the  beach. 

"  I  be  a-going  to  get  me  a  drink, ' '  said  the  man,  kneel- 
ing beside  the  little  brook  that  came  murmuring  down 
through  the  hollow.  As  he  stooped,  his  shadow  seemed 
to  totter  and  fall  before  him  along  the  glen. 

'  *  So  the  boy  is  dead  ? ' '  said  the  man  in  the  cloak,  with 
an  ill-concealed  air  of  eagerness. 

"Dead  as  nails,"  said  the  man  with  the  light,  and  with 
that  he  set  it  down. 

"Are  ye  absolutely  certain?" 

The  sailor  glanced  at  his  companion.  They  were  stand- 
ing under  the  sycamore.  The  sailor  was  smoking  a  pipe. 
The  faint  light  from  the  pipe-bowl  glowed  on  his  face 
and  then  died  away. 

"Perhaps  you  'd  better  swear  me  on  a  Bible,"  he 
said  sulkily,  '  *  or  have  me  up  before  the  court  or  a  bench- 
f ul  of  justices ! ' ' 


7  2  Barnaby  Lee 

"No,"  said  the  other,  shortly,  "we  '11  have  no  oaths 
nor  justices ;  but  I  want  to  be  sure  that  the  knave  is  dead, 
and  I  have  a  right  to  know. ' ' 

"Well,  by  gracious!"  said  the  sailor,  "what  do  you 
want  for  assurance?  I  writ  ye  the  circumstances. 
Did  n't  I  tell  you  that  we  left  him  there  in  the  wilderness 
alone,  without  a  morsel  of  food  to  eat,  remote  from  any 
refuge,  and  nothing  with  which  to  defend  himself  against 
the  savages?  That  night  I  heard  the  wolves  go  howling 
down  the  valley,  and  it  turned  as  cold  as  Labrador. 
Pah!  I  tell  you  he  's  dead  as  nails;  that  's  all  there  is 
about  it. " 

A  sailor  came  and  got  the  lantern. 

The  other  twisted  his  long  white  hands  together  ner- 
vously and  looked  about  him  through  the  wood.  ' '  I  sup- 
pose he  would  have  died  at  any  rate, ' '  he  said.  ' '  A  man 
must  die  when  his  time  comes :  we  all  must  die  when  our 
time  comes." 

* '  Well,  there  's  no  need  to  talk  about  it  now,  if  we  do, ' ' 
growled  the  sailor;  "I  sha'n't  die  till  my  time  does  come, 
and  that  's  the  end  of  it;  don't  talk  so  gashly;  this  is  no 
place  for  gashly  talk!"  He  looked  around  him  with  a 
scowl,  "I  don't  like  the  sound  of  that  bubbling  water. 
I  think  you  'd  only  be  thankful  that  ye  've  got  the  boy 
off  your  hands. ' ' 

The  other  suddenly  wiped  his  hands  upon  his  cloak. 
"Here,"  he  called  with  his  thin,  high  voice,  "you  man 
there  with  the  lantern,  fetch  it  this  way  a  bit;  you  don't 
need  all  the  light. " 


A  Gentleman  in  Scarlet        73 

He  waved  his  hand  eommandingly.  As  he  did  so  a 
gust  of  wind  caught  up  his  cloak  and  blew  it  back  over 
his  shoulder.  In  the  dull  glow  of  the  lantern-light  he 
glimmered  like  a  flame,  for  his  costume  was  both  singu- 
lar and  splendid.  He  was  a  tall  and  striking  man,  with 
an  air  of  elegance,  and  a  dark  face  and  thin,  high  fore- 
head that  seemed  to  mark  a  person  of  some  distinction. 
His  hands  were  rich  with  rings;  his  cloak  had  a  jeweled 
buckle,  and  the  lace  about  his  wrists  and  throat  was 
broad  and  fine.  The  shoulders  of  his  cloak  were  white 
with  powder  from  his  wig,  and  his  hollow  cheeks  were 
touched  with  rouge  and  sweetened  with  perfumed  honey. 
His  wig  was  a  handsome  one  of  long,  dependent  curls 
tied  with  scarlet  ribbons  into  clusters  at  the  sides. 

These  ribbons  seemed  the  key-note  to  his  costume.  He 
was  dressed  in  scarlet  from  head  to  foot,  and  though  his 
long  cloak  hung  curtain-like  around  him,  the  brilliant 
stuffs  shone  through  it.  His  stockings  were  scarlet  silk; 
his  shoes  scarlet  leather,  with  scarlet  satin  bows;  his 
breeches  and  coat  were  scarlet  velvet :  all  of  the  finest. 

Yet  there  seemed  something  unrefined  in  his  finery — 
something  under  the  elegance  inelegant  and  untrue,  a 
touch  of  crude  extravagance  and  of  vain  desire  for  dis- 
play. The  glimmering  light  of  the  lantern  illumined 
his  singular  face,  and  turning  the  shadows  upward, 
added  a  strangely  sinister  look  to  an  already  dubious 
countenance.  He  looked  covertly  around  him  through 
the  wood  and  rubbed  his  hands  together.  **I  suppose  he 
would  have  died  at  any  rate, ' '  he  said. 


74  Barnaby  Lee 

The  sailor  looked  about  him,  and  kicked  the  gravel. 
"Well,"  said  he,  "as  to  that  I  don't  know;  leastwise 
I  'm  none  so  sure ;  he  might,  and  then  again  he  might  n  't. 
That  's  none  of  my  concerns.  He  's  dead ;  and  I  've  come 
for  my  three  hundred  pound  sterling— I  'm  certain  of 
that!" 

It  was  dark  on  the  uplands,  though  the  new  moon  filled 
the  air  with  pallid  radiance.  There  was  no  sound  in  the 
inlet  but  the  distant  thump  of  oars  and  the  hollow  bub- 
bling of  the  brook  among  the  sycamores.  Then  the  sound 
of  the  oars  died  in  the  mist,  and  nothing  was  left  but  the 
pattering  drip  upon  the  underbrush. 

Midway  up  the  hollow  the  gentleman  in  the  long  cloak 
went  swiftly  through  the  wood,  his  wrap  drawn  closely 
about  him.  Thinking  that  he  heard  footsteps  following 
him,  he  paused  for  a  moment  and  listened.  There  was 
no  sound  but  the  murmur  of  the  brook,  whijch  rose  and 
fell  upon  the  ear.  "He  would  have  died  at  any  rate," 
he  said,  and  went  on  up  the  slope. 

Across  the  dim  plateau,  among  starlit  sleeping  groves, 
he  saw  the  white  road  vanishing  into  the  night.  In  the 
valley  the  night-mist  gathered  like  a  cloud.  Somewhere 
a  pastured  bullock  lowed ;  from  far  off  came  the  baying 
of  a  kenneled  hound;  upon  the  ridge  a  cock  crew  shrill. 
"Mine!"  he  said,  and  laughed;  and  putting  his  hands 
together,  he  wrung  them  until  the  knuckles  cracked,  and 
did  not  seem  to  care. 

As  he  hurried  through  the  fields,  a  star  fell  down  the 


A  Gentleman  in  Scarlet        75 

eastern  sky.  He  watched  it  falling  until  it  wore  itself 
away;  then,  turning  from  the  meadow-path,  he  hurried 
to  the  great  house  under  the  wood.  Coming  swiftly  to  a 
room  in  the  high  gable,  he  lighted  three  candles  upon  a 
stand,  threw  open  the  window-lattice  and  looked  out. 
He  heard  the  night-wind  whispering  over  the  meadows. 
A  breeze  from  the  orchard  blew  across  his  face.  He 
looked  abroad  over  field  and  fallow,  fenland  and  upland, 
and  pressing  his  hands  upon  his  breast  with  a  tremu- 
lous breath  of  exultation,  "It  is  mine,"  he  whispered. 
**Itisallmine!" 


CHAPTER  IX 


THE   MARSHES   OF   PAVONIA 


BEYOND  the  river  to  the  west  of  New  Amsterdam  lay 
a  wilderness.  All  the  settlements  which  had  adven- 
tured there  were  failures.  Far  away  to  the  north,  in 
scattered  fields,  here  and  there  a  farmer  reaped  his  bar- 
ley in  peril  of  his  life;  but  all  the  rest  of  the  country 
was  a  waste,  to  the  east  of  which  lay  the  North  River,  to 
the  west  the  remote  blue  hills,  while  to  the  south  the 
whole  land  sank  into  utter  desolation.  All  the  coast  be- 
came a  marsh,  a  waste  of  reeds  and  boggy  islands  that 
stretched  away,  for  miles,  along  the  sunken  shore. 

Twice  every  day  the  tides  swept  over  the  marshes ;  and 
twice  every  day  the  marshes  emerged  again,  drowned. 
In  their  vast  expanse  wild  fowl  lurked  by  thousands, 
geese,  ducks,  loons,  and  herons,  in  flocks  which  fairly 
dimmed  the  sun,  a  feathery  multitude  which  offered 
tempting  marks  to  every  hunter's  gun.  For  a  wild  duck 
stuffed  with  onions,  hominy,  and  sage,  set  about  with 
little  rolls  of  sausage-meat  and  cheese,  popped  into  the 
oven,  and  done  to  a  turn  as  twilight  gathers  in  the  streets 
and  the  air  grows  sharp,  is  a  thing  which  makes  a  hungry 
man  water  at  the  mouth. 

That  was  why  the  sentinel  on  the  fort-wall  kept  look- 

76 


The  Marshes  of  Pavonia        77 

ing  out  into  the  west  with  speculative  eye  that  changeful 
afternoon  of  April.  At  the  mouth  of  an  inlet  on  the  mar- 
gin of  the  fens  the  slender  mast  of  a  hunter's  boat  rose 
above  the  withered  reeds,  and  over  the  water,  from  time 
to  time,  rang  the  distant  report  of  a  carbine,  a  sound 
which  to  the  world  at  large  said  ' '  Thimip ! ' '  but  to  the 
sentinel '  *  Duck  and  onions. ' ' 

The  tide  had  turned  at  the  second  watch,  and  was  run- 
ning in  swiftly,  creeping  about  the  boggy  knolls  and 
among  the  rushes;  and  the  wild  fowl  were  gathering 
from  every  direction  to  seek  their  feeding-ground  among 
the  sedge. 

The  wind-jack  at  the  peak  of  the  mast  flapped  and 
fluttered  over  the  rushes,  rocked  and  swayed,  as  though 
it  were  upon  a  cradle ;  and  the  herring-skiff  from  which 
the  mast  sprang  was  not  unlike  a  cradle.  Like  all  Dutch 
water-craft,  it  was  about  as  broad  as  it  was  long,  a  trifle 
pointed  at  the  prow,  like  a  basin  with  a  nose,  and  neither 
passing  fair  nor  over  fast,  but  safe  in  any  weather. 

The  dark-red  sail  was  struck,  and  in  its  folds  against 
the  thwart,  snugly  sheltered  from  the  wind,  sat  a  girl  in 
a  crimson  jacket,  busily  knitting  at  a  scarf  of  yellow  yam. 
Beside  her  upon  the  thwart  lay  a  pile  of  barley-cakes, 
one  with  an  eager  little  bite  through  its  middle.  From 
time  to  time  the  girl 's  fingers  crept  under  her  jacket  for 
warmth,  for  the  sun  was  going  down  and  the  air  was 
growing  chill. 

In  the  stem  of  the  boat  sat  a  sturdy  boy  with  a  ramrod 
between  his  teeth.    He  was  pouring  shot  from  a  leather 


78  Barnaby  Lee 

pouch  into  a  copper  charger.  A  powder-horn  lay  Heside 
him,  and  across  his  knees  was  a  carbine.  Four  ducks 
and  a  goose  lay  in  the  skiff,  and  now  and  again  the  boy 
looked  up  at  the  flocks  which  came  winging  to  right  and 
left.  Their  outstretched  wings  made  black  crosses  of 
them  against  the  west,  for  the  clouds  were  breaking  along 
the  hills,  and  through  the  rifts  the  sunlight  streamed  in 
Jyars  of  pale  glory  over  the  fen. 

The  girl  looked  up. 

Across  the  bay  the  little  city  stood  out  bright  against 
the  gloom  of  the  eastern  sky,  the  distant  mill-sails  twirl- 
ing as  merrily  as  a  golden  whirligig.  Yet  even  as  she 
looked  the  twilight  dulled  the  gold  to  gray,  and  the  re- 
flection that  gleamed  from  the  windows  of  the  town  faded 
in  the  dusk. 

"Dirck,"  said  she,  "it  groweth  late." 

The  boy  made  no  reply. 

* '  Dirck, ' '  she  repeated,  "  it  is  growing  late,  and  the  sun 
is  going  down.  We  must  be  going  home.  Thou  saidst 
we  should  not  tarry." 

"I  said  that  I  would  bring  six  ducks,"  he  answered, 
"and  there  are  only  four."  He  drove  the  ramrod  home 
into  the  barrel  of  the  carbine. 

"Thou  hast  a  goose." 

"But  I  said  six  ducks." 

"What  matter  two  small  wild  ducks?" 

"I  said  that  I  would  bring  six.  I  shall  not  go  until  I 
get  them,"  he  answered  quietly. 

The  girl  leaned  back  against  the  thwart,  with  her  knit- 


The  Marshes  of  Pavonia        79 

ting  in  her  lap.  "I  know  a  song,"  she  said,  laughing, 
'  *  which  fitteth  thee  like  the  skin  on  a  prune ! ' '  and  then 
she  began  to  sing : 


"  There  dwelt  a  man  in  Amsterdam,  so  obstinate,  they  say, 
That  the  ocean  could  not  move  him,  though  it  washed  the  dikes 

away ; 
So  when  the  world  was  ended  and  he  would  not  move  his  chair. 
They  had  to  roll  the  world  away  and  leave  him  sitting  there." 

"Tut,  tut!"  cried  the  boy,  "behush  thyself;  thou  'It 
frighten  the  fowl  to  death  with  thy  noise. ' ' 

"Well,"  she  said,  smiling  merrily,  "I  would  as  lief 
be  frightened  to  death  as  to  be  shot. ' ' 

"Thou  art  no  duck." 

"Nay,  nor  a  goose,"  she  answered,  laughing.  But 
suddenly  a  strange  note  touched  her  laughter.  She 
sat  up  quickly,  listening,  "Dirck,  what  was  that!"  she 
asked. 

"A  loon,"  said  he,  and  blew  the  gun-match  until  its 
spark  glowed  bright. 

The  girl  had  taken  up  a  barley-cake  and  raised  it  to 
her  lips;  she  laid  it  down  untouched.  "That  was  no 
loon, ' '  she  said. 

The  boy  tapped  his  foot  impatiently.  "Well,  it  was  a 
loon,  80  there, ' '  said  he.  ' '  Don 't  talk  so  much ;  thou  'It 
frighten  the  ducks  away,  and  we  won't  get  home  to- 
night." 

But  she  leaned  forward,  listening ;  there  was  a  startled 
look  on  her  face.    *  *  I  tell  thee,  Dirck,  it  was  no  loon,  nor 


8o  Barnaby  Lee 

any  water-fowl,"  she  whispered,  with  a  tremble  in  her 
voice ;  "  I  heard  it  plain. ' ' 

' '  Nonsense ! ' '  said  Direk. 

There  was  no  sound  for  a  moment  but  the  lapping  of 
the  waves  and  the  sighing  of  the  wind  through  the  rushes. 
Then  all  at  once  she  started  up.  '  *  There !  There  it  comes 
again!  Oh,  surely,  Dirck,  thou  heardest  it!  There! 
there !— didst  thou  not  hear  it  ? " 

"Hear  it?  Hear  what?"  said  the  boy.  *'I  hear  thy 
silly  chatter.  Besides  that  I  heard  nothing;  there  was 
nothing  to  hear." 

Standing  upon  the  forward  thwart  and  clinging  to  the 
mast,  the  girl  stared  into  the  mist.  "Doth  nothing  cry 
out  '  Oh,  oh,  oh !'  as  if  its  heart  were  breaking  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  pah!"  said  the  boy,  disgustedly;  "I  tell  thee, 
't  was  a  loon.  * ' 

"But,  Dirck,  it  cried  'Ahoy  I'  as  plain  as  human  tongue 
can  speak. ' ' 

*  *  'T  was  but  the  scream  of  a  loon. "  As  he  spoke  the 
unearthly  laughter  of  a  loon  sent  a  thrill  across  the 
marsh.    "There,  now,  Dorothy;  I  told  thee  so." 

"But  it  was  not  that;  it  was  a  human  voice.  Dirck,  I 
am  afraid.  The  twilight  falls ;  it  will  soon  be  dark.  Let 
the  two  ducks  go ! " 

"Prut!  don't  be  foolish,  Dorothy!  Wouldst  have  me 
break  my  word  ? ' ' 

"But,  Dirck,  truly  I  am  afraid.  This  is  no  goodly 
place.  The  Sanhikans  make  sorcery  here,  and  witch- 
craft.   They  freeze  the  streams  in  summer-time,  and  the 


The  Marshes  of  Pavonia        8i 

forests  are  full  of  wizards.  Pray,  let  the  two  ducks  go, 
Dirck !  Nay,  I  beg  of  thee,  Dirck ;  I  am  not  wont  to  beg 
of  thee." 

'*Tut !"  cried  the  boy.  "Do  hold  thy  prate  and  stand 
down  so  that  I  may  see.  Here  come  the  bay  ducks  going 
out.    Stand  down ;  I  cannot  see  through  thee. ' ' 

As  he  spoke  he  raised  his  carbine,  for  the  ducks  were 
rising  on  whistling  wings  in  every  direction  and  came 
whirling  in  clouds  across  the  fen.  "My  conscience!  how 
they  come ! "  he  cried,  and  stood  with  his  feet  braced  wide 
apart  against  the  gunwale  and  the  stern-sheets. 

Over  the  marsh  like  shadows  came  the  wild  fowl,  their 
wings  whistling  shrilly ;  the  herons  sped  along  the  sand, 
staring  with  heads  upraised ;  a  flock  of  wild  geese  rushed 
across  the  fen.  "Stand  down!"  cried  the  boy.  "They 
will  not  pass  over.  Thy  red  jacket  frightens  them.  I 
shall  not  get  a  shot." 

A  cloud-rift  opened  overhead.  The  last  rays  of  the 
setting  sun,  reflected  from  above,  lit  up  the  marsh  with 
a  pale  yellow  glow.  Upon  a  bank  of  rushes  in  the  fen 
rose  a  gesturing  form.  "Dirck,"  whispered  Dorothy, 
* '  there  is  some  one  in  the  fen ! ' ' 

"For  the  sake  of  patience  hold  thy  tongue  and  let  me 
shoot  my  ducks ;  the  very  mill-clapper  maketh  less  noise. 
Hei,  there,  now;  stand  fast,  I  say!"  A  red  flash  stung 
her  eyes  and  made  her  head  spin;  the  gun-smoke  stifled 
her.  He  had  fired  over  her  shoulder.  She  heard  a  splash- 
ing in  the  water,  and  Dirck 's  loud  "Hurrah !  I  have  my 
ducks !    Five  at  a  shot ;  all  golden-eyes ;  and  with  a  ear- 


82  Barnaby  Lee 

bine,  too!  Hurrah!  Herry  De  Becker  may  have  the 
twelve  he  shot  with  his  old  musketoon ! ' ' 

The  cold  wind  blew  across  her  face  and  drove  away  the 
powder-smoke;  though  the  tears  were  running  down  her 
cheeks,  she  quickly  opened  her  eyes.  Then  she  drew  her 
breath  with  a  little  choking  cry.  Scarcely  two  oars' 
length  from  the  boat,  a  head  rose  among  the  rushes, 
bound  about  with  a  miry  crimson  handkerchief,  from  un- 
der which  long,  matted  locks  of  yellow  hair  hung  around 
a  haggard  face  whose  eyes  were  staring  straight  into  hers. 
Her  heart  stood  still.  She  tried  to  speak,  but  her  lips 
would  not  make  a  sound. 

"Five  ducks!"  cried  Dirck.  "Five  good,  fat  ducks! 
Five  ducks  and  four  ducks  are  nine  ducks.  Nine  ducks 
and  a  goose !  Hurrah ! ' '  His  breast  was  filled  with  tri- 
umph. * '  I  said  I  would  bring  six  ducks, ' '  cried  he,  with 
a  little  exultant  laugh.  Then  he  lifted  his  eyes  and  saw 
the  head  among  the  rushes.  His  cheeks  turned  pale,  and 
dropping  the  ducks,  he  staggered  back  across  the  thwart. 
"Aeh!  't  is  the  ghost  of  Michael  Pauw!"  he  gasped. 
'  *  St.  Nicholas  preserve  us ! " 

But  the  face  was  only  the  face  of  a  boy,  haggard  and 
sick  with  hunger,  pitiful  and  woebegone,  anything  but 
terrible.  He  put  his  hands  out  pleadingly  among  the 
reeds,  dripping  black  with  the  water-mire,  and  cried 
in  a  faint  voice:  "Oh,  master,  take  me  into  the  boat;  I 
be  sinking  in  the  quag ! ' ' 

The  Dutch  boy  did  not  understand ;  he  knew  but  little 
English.    "  Off ! "  he  gasped.    "  Off,  I  say ! "  and  catching 


The  Marshes  of  Pavonia        83 

up  the  empty  carbine,  he  leveled  it  at  the  head  among  the 
rushes.  "Stand  off,  or  I  will  blow  thee  full  of  holes. 
Cast  off  the  mooring-line,  Dorothy ! ' ' 

Dorothy  had  fallen  to  her  knees  among  the  folds  of 
the  sail.  Her  lips  moved  silently ;  she  was  praying.  Her 
breath  went  fast,  and  her  breast  fluttered  like  that  of  a 
bird  in  a  snare;  her  eyes  were  fast  on  the  face  in  the 
marsh. 

Its  eyes  met  hers;  the  hands  waved;  again  the  voice 
cried  beseechingly  -.  ' '  Oh,  mistress,  won 't  ye  take  me  into 
the  boat  ?  I  am  sinking  in  the  mire !  I  will  give  ye  my 
printing-book  and  my  knife;  oh,  indeed,  I  will  give  ye 
all  that  I  have  if  ye  will  only  take  me  up  into  the  boat 
and  save  me ! " 

The  eyes  were  blue,  and  the  face  fair,  although  wild 
and  haggard;  the  outstretched  hands  were  slender.  A 
wretch?  But  oh,  so  wretched!  his  mouth  was  pitiful. 
Compassion  welled  up  in  her  heart  and  blotted  out  all 
fear.  ' '  Who  art  thou  ? ' '  she  called  in  a  clear  voice,  with 
the  sweetest  and  quaintest  English  accent.  "Who  art 
thou,  and  what  art  doing  here  in  this  foul  place  1 ' ' 

The  boy  cried  out  at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  and  strug- 
gled in  the  fen.  "I  am  Bamaby  Lee  of  Quarrendon, 
in  Bucks ;  I  ha '  come  from  God  knows  where ;  I  be  a-per- 
ishing !  Oh,  mistress,  take  me  into  the  boat ;  I  am  perish- 
ing with  the  cold.  I  be  weary  and  worn;  and  I  be,  oh, 
so  hungry ;  and  I  am  ill  unto  death.  Oh,  mistress,  if  ye 
will  not  take  me  in,  I  be  a  dead  man  here  this  night.  Oh, 
mistress,  take  me  into  the  boat;  I  am  going  down  in  the 
water  I ' ' 


84  Barnaby  Lee 

The  tide  was  running  about  his  waist,  gurgling  as  it 
ran;  he  staggered  as  he  tried  to  stand  against  it.  "Oh, 
Dirck,  it  is  only  a  boy, ' '  cried  Dorothy,  ' '  a  pitiful,  starv- 
ing boy ! ' ' 

*"T  is  an  English  rogue,"  cried  Dirck.  "Stand  off, 
thou  vagabond,  or  I  '11  shoot ! ' '  and  he  motioned  with  his 
gun. 

"But,  Dirck,"  she  cried,  "he  perisheth!" 

"Well,  let  the  rascal  perish;  he  is  a  murdering 
picaroon.  * ' 

"Nay,  Dirck;  't  is  the  English  cabin-boy!"  She 
peered  through  the  fast-falling  twilight. 

' '  Cast  off  the  mooring, ' '  growled  Dirck. 

"But  then  we  shall  swing  away." 

"I  intend  to  swing  away,"  he  replied.  "Dost  wish  to 
stay  here  all  night?" 

"What  dost  thou  mean?"  she  exclaimed. 

"What  should  I  mean?"  he  rejoined.  "Cast  off  the 
forward  mooring-line  there. ' ' 

"But,  Dirck,  the  tide  is  coming  in;  't  will  sweep  the 
marshes  clean." 

"I  am  not  master  of  the  tides."  He  loosed  the  after 
mooring,  and  the  boat  swung  around  on  the  swiftly  hur- 
rying tide.  "Cast  off  that  forward  line,"  he  said;  "I 
can  come  and  grapple  it  anon." 

She  drew  a  little  trembling  breath.  *  *  Oh,  Dirck, '  *  she 
said.    "Oh,  Dirck!" 

But  his  face  was  stern.    ' '  Cast  off  the  line. ' ' 

"But,  Dirck,  the  poor  lad  will  drown  I" 


The  Marshes  of  Pavonia        8  5 

' '  Let  him  drown, ' '  he  answered  bitterly.  '  "T  is  a  good 
thing  for  an  Englishman ;  I  would  they  all  were  drowned 
and  lying  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea !  Cast  off  that  line  as 
I  bade  thee,  and  don't  be  all  night  about  it." 

Then  all  at  once  he  looked  at  her  with  wonder  in  his 
face;  for  she  sprang  upon  the  forward  thwart  with  her 
hand  on  the  halyard. 

*  *  Coward ! ' '  she  said.  *  *  Coward !  Thou  art  more  cow- 
ardly than  I  thought !  Fear  not, ' '  she  cried  to  the  Eng- 
lish boy ;  *  *  he  cannot  fire  on  thee ;  his  silly  gun  is  empty. 
Stand  fast,  lad;  I  will  come  for  thee;  thou  shalt  not  be 
left  here  to  die. ' '  Thrusting  the  long  sweeps  through  the 
tholes,  she  began  to  tug  at  them  bravely. 

The  wind  was  rising,  and  the  tide  was  strong ;  the  cur- 
rent wrenched  the  boat  about,  but  the  girl  rowed  well, 
bracing  herself  and  pulling  in  a  way  that  was  fine  to  see. 
The  skiff  fell  off,  the  waves  buffeted  it,  but  she  pressed 
her  lips  together,  and  the  broad  boat  drew  slowly  in 
among  the  rushes.  * '  Hold  fast,  lad, ' '  she  cried  cheerily ; 
"we  are  coming." 

At  that  the  boy  in  the  stem  looked  up.  "Why  didst 
thou  call  me  a  coward?"  he  asked. 

"Because  thou  art  cruel,"  she  answered. 

"I  am  not;  I  deny  it.    To  hate  a  man  is  not  cruel." 

"Hate?    What  cause  hast  thou  for  hate?" 

"It  is  enough  that  he  is  an  Englishman;  I  hate  them 
one  and  all ;  they  stabbed  my  father  in  the  back.  If  the 
whole  of  England  were  in  the  marsh  I  'd  laugh  to  watch 
her  sinking." 


86  Barnaby  Lee 

The  sedge  scraped  on  the  boat-side,  and  through  the 
windy  patter  of  the  rushes  could  be  plainly  heard  the  ex- 
hausted panting  of  the  English  boy.  Then  suddenly  he 
gave  a  cry,  "Oh,  mistress,  be  quick;  I  am  going!"  and 
the  rushes  on  which  he  was  holding  gave  way. 

Dorothy  sprang  to  her  feet  and  thrust  one  sweep  be- 
yond the  swinging  boat.  "Stand  fast,"  she  cried;  "I 
am  coming!"  and  pushed  with  all  her  might.  The 
boat  swung  round  against  the  tide  and  plunged  into  the 
swaying  reeds.  "Now  come  thou  into  the  skiff,"  cried 
Dorothy,  bending  upon  her  oar. 

The  boy  reached  out  toward  the  boat  among  the  tangled 
rushes,  but  lost  his  balance  and  fell  forward  on  a  tussock 
of  black  marsh-grass,  where  he  lay  unable  to  help  himself, 
for  his  legs  were  fast  in  the  mire.  He  burst  out  in  a  great 
sob  like  a  child.  "I  cannot  pull  them  out,"  he  cried. 
"Oh,  mistress,  I  be  done  for!" 

The  little  crimson  jacket  went  like  a  fire  along  the  boat; 
Dorothy  caught  the  reeds  and  the  white-birch  twigs  and 
tugged  with  all  her  strength.  Heavily  and  slowly  the 
broad-bowed  skiff  dragged  across  the  flooded  sedge,  jib- 
bing like  a  restive  horse.  "Now,  quick,  give  me  thine 
hands!"  cried  Dorothy,  and  braced  herself  against  the 
gunwale.  Swiftly  reaching  forth  with  her  hands,  she 
caught  the  boy's  gaunt,  cold  fingers.  "God  bless  ye!" 
he  said,  and  clutched  her  hands  with  the  energy  of  de- 
spair. The  color  fled  from  her  face  at  his  grip,  but  she 
made  no  cry.  ' '  Now,  now ! ' '  she  said,  and  swung  her 
body  lithely  back  with  the  swinging  of  the  boat.     The 


The  Marshes  of  Pavonia        Sy 

water  dashed  him  to  and  fro ;  one  wave  broke  over  him ; 
he  came  up  from  it  gasping,  and  fell  across  the  gunwale, 
but  it  was  all  that  he  could  do.  The  girl  put  her  arms 
around  him,  but  she  could  not  lift  him  up.  "Dirck," 
she  said,  and  all  at  once  her  voice  was  very  quiet.  Dirck 
looked  up,  for  there  was  a  strange  thrill  in  her  tone. 
"Dost  hear  me,  Dirck?" 

"Yea,  I  hear  thee." 

"Put  down  thy  silly  gun,  and  take  this  poor  lad  into 
the  boat.  His  feet  are  fastened  in  the  mire,  and  I  cannot 
lift  him."  Her  face  was  white,  but  her  eyes  were  like 
stars.  He  looked  at  her,  but  did  not  move.  The  place 
was  very  still.  The  gray  fen-mist  hung  over  them  like  a 
veil.  She  drew  her  head  back.  "Didst  thou  hear  what 
I  said  unto  thee  ? ' ' 

* '  Yea, ' '  answered  Dirck. 

"Then  do  it!"  she  cried.  "I  will  not  be  gainsaid. 
When  I  tell  thee  to  do  a  thing  I  mean  that  it  shall  be  done 
forthwith.  This  is  no  time  for  bickering;  do  as  I  tell 
thee!" 

Dirck  laid  down  the  carbine,— he  could  not  tell  just 
why  he  did  so,— but  answered  bitterly:  "If  the  English 
had  stabbed  thy  father,  thou  wouldst  hate  them  as  I  do. " 

Then,  all  at  once,  her  cheek  flushed,  and  a  change  came 
over  her  passionate  face.  "Oh,  Dirck,"  she  said  softly, 
"be  pitiful !  Thou  wouldst  not  I  should  hate  thee.  Then 
pity  this  poor  lad.  He  is  dying  of  hunger.  Is  hunger 
English,  that  thou  shouldst  not  have  compassion  on  it! 
or  death  so  strange,  that  thou  dost  not  guess  its  bitter- 


8/8  Barnaby  Lee 

ness?     Wouldst  have  me  hate  thee?     Nay,   then,   be 
pitiful!" 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  changing  face,  but  his  brow 
still  scowled.  ' '  Oh,  pah ! "  he  said, ' '  I  will  pity  him,  then, 
if  pity  pleaseth  thee ;  and  if  it  pleaseth  thee  to  have  him 
taken  into  the  boat,  I  will  take  the  beggar  in.  Leave  go 
of  him.  Stand  back  and  let  me  have  room.  See,  now; 
thou  hast  muddied  thy  dress,  and  thy  mother  will  be 
angry.  Stand  back,  Dorothy."  So  saying,  he  stooped 
and  thrust  his  arms  under  the  cabin-boy.  "I  take  him 
aboard  because  thou  dost  wish  it,  and  not  that  I  hate  him 
the  less.  And,  mark  me,"  he  continued,  scowling  unre- 
lentingly, "let  him  be  warmed  once,  let  him  be  fed,  ay, 
let  the  beggar  be  washed  and  clean,  I  shall  beat  him  so 
that  he  will  wish  I  had  left  him  in  the  fen.  Come,  thou 
miserable  bag  of  bones ! "  he  said  to  the  English  lad,  and 
with  a  long  tug  and  a  strong  pull  he  drew  him  safely  over 
the  gunwale. 


CHAPTER  X 

A   PRISONER 

THE  glory  of  the  western  sky  had  faded  into  gray; 
the  last  pale  glare  of  the  day  was  gone.  Night  fell 
swiftly;  the  stars  came  out,  and  the  moon  appeared, 
swiftly  climbing  the  eastern  cloud,  but  giving  little  light. 

Beyond  the  shelter  of  the  marsh  was  a  rolling,  windy 
sea ;  but  there  was  no  better  sailor  in  all  New  Amsterdam 
than  young  Dirck  Storm.  Settling  himself  at  the  tiller, 
he  let  the  boat's  head  swing  until  her  red  sail  caught  the 
wind  and  filled  with  a  flap.  Close-hauled,  they  drew 
away  from  the  marsh.  The  water  was  as  cold  as  pistol- 
steel,  and  black  with  the  rush  of  the  wind.  The  little 
herring-skiff  heeled  down  until  the  foam  bubbled  along 
her  rail. 

The  English  boy  looked  at  neither  the  water  nor  the 
boat,  but,  with  his  hands  clasped  upon  his  breast, 
crouched,  dripping,  against  the  mast.  The  girl  stared  at 
him  with  quivering  lips.  She  was  trembling  from  head 
to  foot.  Then  suddenly  she  bent  her  head,  and  hid  her 
white  face  in  her  hands.  She  was  not  crying,  but  her 
fingers  were  clenched  upon  her  temples,  and  by  turns 
her  cheeks  were  red  and  white;  she  was  over-wrought. 
Then,  straightening  up  with  a  fair,  brave  pride,  she  laid 

89 


90  Barnaby  Lee 

her  hands  in  her  lap.  The  stain  of  the  marsh  was  on 
them,  and  the  print  of  the  English  boy's  hard  grip  still 
showed  in  deep,  red  lines  across  their  backs.  Sitting 
there  silent,  she  watched  the  water. 

It  was  but  a  short  Dutch  mile  across  the  river  to  the 
town.  As  they  neared  the  shore,  they  could  hear  the 
lowing  of  cattle  from  the  sheds,  and  the  sound  of  the 
watchmen's  rattles  from  the  square.  It  was  now  quite 
dark,  and  the  night-lights  swung  on  the  masts  of  the 
ships  in  the  harbor.  The  fort  stood  black  against  the 
sky,  and  along  the  wall  a  solitary  sentinel  was  pacing  up 
and  down. 

As  they  drove  in  toward  the  land,  Dirck  took  up  a 
conch-shell  which  was  lying  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat, 
and  blew  upon  it. 

* '  Here !  what  are  ye  blowing  for  ? ' '  cried  a  voice  out  of 
the  darkness.  "What  craft  is  that,  and  who  are  ye  that 
ye  come  ashore  so  late?" 

Dirck  let  the  sail  fall,  and  taking  the  oars,  pulled 
stoutly  through  the  wash.  "It  is  I— Dirck  Storm,"  he 
answered.    "We  have  taken  a  picaroon." 

' '  What  's  that  ye  say  ? ' '  the  hoarse  voice  called. 

"We  have  taken  an  English  picaroon  in  the  marshes 
beyond  the  river.    Go  tell  the  Schout  Fiskaal." 

Quick  feet  went  running  up  the  bank,  voices  called 
along  the  street,  doors  opened,  lights  shone,  men  came 
out.  The  rattle-watch  came  down.  "Dirck  Storm  hath 
taken  a  picaroon!"  they  shouted. 

The  skiff  drove  in  upon  the  sand;  the  lanterns  came 


A  Prisoner  91 

clustering  around,  pipe-bowls  glowed  like  fireflies  in  the 
darkness ;  then  came  a  voice  crying,  * '  Way,  there ! ' '  and 
the  Schout  Fiskaal  lumbered  down. 

' '  Hah ! "  he  cried.    ' '  Where  is  the  rogue  ? ' ' 

' '  Here, ' '  answered  the  captain  of  the  watch ;  '  *  I  have 
him." 

' '  Aha,  Master  Villain !  where  art  thou  now  ? ' '  cried  the 
Schout  Fiskaal,  clanking  his  sword.  Then  he  suddenly 
paused  and  rubbed  his  eyes.  "So  small  as  that?"  he 
gasped.  "He  must  be  very  wicked;  hold  fast  to  him, 
Ludowyck ;  he  hath  an  ugly  knife. ' ' 

But  the  boy  was  shaking  with  the  cold,  and  could 
hardly  keep  his  feet.  The  lantern-lights  went  up  and 
down,  and  the  earth  seemed  rocking  under  him;  the 
houses  danced  before  his  eyes  as  if  they  were  drunk,  and 
in  his  ears  was  a  roaring  like  the  sound  of  a  storm. 

"What  shall  I  do  with  him,  mynheer?"  asked  the  cap- 
tain of  the  watch. 

"Lock  him  up  in  the  Stad  Huis  jail." 

The  captain  slowly  shook  his  head.  "Impossible, 
mynheer. ' ' 

"And  why  is  it  impossible?" 

"The  jail  is  full  of  cheeses." 

The  Heer  Officier  puffed  his  cheeks  and  stared  blankly 
at  the  captain.  "What  sort  of  business  is  this,"  he 
asked,  * '  that  the  jail  is  full  of  cheeses  ? ' ' 

"The  very  best  sort  of  business,"  replied  the  captain 
of  the  watch.  "Cheeses  bring  good  rents,  mynheer,  but 
prisoners  cost  the  city  moneys. ' ' 


92  Barnaby  Lee 

"Ach,  so!  I  had  not  thought  of  that.  Well,  then, 
take  him  and  lock  him  up  in  the  guard-room  at  the  fort." 

The  captain  doubtfully  rubbed  his  chin. 

"Well,  now  what  is  the  matter,  that  ye  stand  there 
rubbing  your  chin?" 

"The  guard-room  at  the  fort,  mynheer,  is  full  of 
pickle-tubs. ' ' 

The  Schout  Fiskaal  gasped.  "Of  pickle-tubs?  The 
guard-room  full  of  pickle-tubs!    Whose  pickle-tubs?" 

"Jan  Hook's,  I  think." 

"Well,  a  pest  upon  Jan  Hook!  Is  the  world  a  ware- 
house for  green  cheese  and  pickle-tubs?  This  is  a  nice 
to-do :  cheeses  in  the  Stad  Huis,  pickle-tubs  in  the  guard- 
room; that  's  a  sweet  kettle  of  fish.  Donkerheid  and 
donderkloot !— a  pest  on  Jan  Hook !" 

The  captain  bowed.  "As  ye  please,  mynheer,  a  pest 
upon  Jan  Hook;  but  what  shall  be  done  with  the  pica^ 
roon?" 

* '  Lock  him  up,  I  told  thee. ' ' 

"Lock  him  up?  Truly;  but  where?  Where  shall  I 
lock  him  up  ? " 

The  Schout  Fiskaal  clapped  his  fists  together.  *  *  Body 
and  soul ! "  he  cried.  "Do  ye  expect  me  to  furnish  you 
with  jails  as  well  as  to  fill  them  for  you?  Do  ye  think 
that  I  carry  a  dungeon  in  my  tobacco-bag  ?  Donder  and 
bliksem !  what  to  do?"  He  stopped  and  ruefully  rubbed 
his  head;  then  all  at  once  his  face  lighted  up.  "Hah! 
I  have  it,"  he  said.  "Lock  him  up  in  the  loft  of  the 
windmill;  there  is  room  for  a  dozen  of  him." 


'  TU£   ENULISU  BOY  UAI>  FAL.LEN   FACE  UUWM   ON  TU£  SAND. 


A  Prisoner  93 

The  captain  of  the  night  watch  bowed,  and  turned  to 
his  prisoner.  "Come  thou,"  he  said;  then  he  started 
back.  * '  Preserve  my  soul ! "  he  cried,  for  the  English  boy 
had  fallen  face  down  on  the  sand. 

The  burghers  crowded  around  him,  crying  out. 
' '  Ach ! ' '  said  One.  "  Tut ! "  said  Two.  ' '  Well ;  to  think 
of  it ! "  said  Three.  Then  they  puffed  their  pipes  again, 
and  did  nothing.  But  one  kind  lad  with  sense  in  his  head 
brought  down  a  shutter,  on  which  the  night  watch  laid 
the  boy  and,  crossing  their  pike-staves  under  him,  started 
heavily  up  the  bank.  *'Run  thou,"  said  the  captain  to 
the  boy  who  brought  the  shutter.  "Tell  them  to  open 
the  land-gate. ' ' 

But  before  the  boy  came  to  the  market-field  a  girl  had 
run  before  him,  as  light  on  her  feet  as  a  leaf  in  the  wind, 
and  coming  first  to  the  land-port,  she  beat  upon  the  gate, 
crying:    "Quick,  Jan  Duyvelant;  open  the  gate." 

"Who  calls?"  growled  the  sentinel. 

"'T  is  I,  Jan,— Dorothy  Van  Sweringen.  Open  the 
little  wicket  and  let  me  in." 

Slipping  through  the  little  gate,  she  sped  across  the 
fort  and  up  the  steps  of  the  house  that  stood  midway  of 
the  row,  and,  breathlessly  springing  the  door-latch,  she 
entered. 

Within  the  room  the  very  roof-beams  danced  in  a 
pleasant  flood  of  light.  The  hearth  was  heaped  with 
beech-logs  blazing  merrily.  On  the  tables  were  groups  of 
candles,  twinkling  like  stars.  By  the  window,  looking 
out,  was  a  woman,  slender,  beautiful,  young,  yet  grave— 


94  Barnaby  Lee 

a  little  sad  withal.  When  she  heard  the  girl's  step,  she 
turned  to  meet  her  with  a  smile.  "My  little  one,"  she 
said,  "thou  art  come  at  last!"  But  the  girl  cried, 
"Mother,  oh,  mother,  they  are  putting  him  up  in  the 
windmill  loft;  and  oh,  mother,  the  boy  will  surely  die 
there.  He  is  hungry  and  cold  and  ill — he  hath  swooned. 
He  is  naught  but  a  cabin-boy.  Dirck  saith  that  he  is  a 
rogue,  mother,  but  he  cannot  be  a  rogue.  His  eyes  are 
as  blue  as  mine,  mother,  and  his  mouth  doth  make  me 
cry!"  Her  gallant  courage  failed;  she  leaned  against 
the  wainscot  and,  with  her  head  upon  her  arms,  sobbed 
convulsively. 

Just  then,  through  the  darkness  outside,  came  a  shout- 
ing, with  a  trampling  of  feet  and  a  tumult  at  the  gates. 
Loud  roared  the  watch  from  the  market-field ;  they  beat 
upon  the  gates.  The  sentries  ran  to  reinforce  the  guard ; 
the  din  became  an  uproar. 

A  woman,  dark  and  imperious,  with  a  countenance  as 
stern  as  a  man's,  stood  by  the  southernmost  window  in 
the  Director-General's  residence.  Behind  her  was  a 
serving-man  in  quiet  livery.  "Joris,  what  means  this 
din?"  she  asked,  with  a  flash  of  her  black  eyes. 

"They  have  taken  a  picaroon,  mevrouw,"  said  he,  re- 
spectfully. 

' '  And  doth  one  picaroon  justify  this  uproar  ? ' ' 

* '  He  is  the  city 's  prisoner,  mevrouw,  so  the  guard  will 
not  let  the  night  watch  bring  him  into  the  fort ;  yet  there 
is  no  place  in  the  city  where  they  may  keep  him  safely. 
It  is  a  hanging  matter,  so  they  dare  not  turn  him  loose. 


A  Prisoner  95 


He  must  be  kept  until  the  Director-General  comes.  So 
the  city  watch  demandeth  admittance ;  but  the  fort  guard 
refuseth.  One  cries  'In!'  t'  other  cries  'Out!'  and  so 
there  is  a  riot." 

The  woman's  dark  cheeks  flushed  angrily.  "Another 
quarrel  with  the  town!"  she  exclaimed.  "Things  go 
from  bad  to  worse.  I  would  that  Peter  himself  were  here 
to  take  these  brawlers  by  the  scruff." 

' '  Oh,  Anneke, ' '  cried  a  clear,  soft  voice  from  the  door 
of  the  inner  chamber,  and  a  slender,  girlish  woman's 
figure  came  swiftly  into  the  room.  "Oh,  Anneke,  Dor- 
othy telleth  me  that  it  is  but  a  cabin-boy  who  hath  wan- 
dered in  the  wilderness  and  is  starving.  She  saith  he 
hath  swooned  from  exhaustion,  yet  they  are  putting  him 
up  in  the  windmill ! '  * 

' '  In  the  windmill  1 ' '  cried  the  other.  ' '  A  starving  boy 
in  the  windmill  ?  Have  men  all  lost  their  senses,  or  what 
scatter-brained  folly  is  this?  Why,  they  grow  but  more 
witless  daily.  Tsst !  Joris,  my  cloak !  I  will  settle  their 
nonsense.  Make  the  door  open  there,  Joris.  They  will 
put  no  starving  boy  up  in  the  windmill  this  night,  or  my 
name  is  not  Anneke  Bayard ! ' ' 

Then  out  she  strode,  with  her  serving-man  going  before 
her,  across  the  parade,  and  her  long  black  cloak  blowing 
about  her  in  the  wind. 

"Open  those  gates,  Jan  Duyvelant,"  she  said. 

"But,  mevrouw,"  protested  the  sentry,  "the  orders 
for  the  night—" 

"Are  to  open  those  gates  as  I  bid  thee,  and  not  to  give 


96  Barnaby  Lee 

me  answers.  I  come  not  here  in  search  of  words ;  I  have 
had  a  surfeit  of  them.    Open  the  gates  as  I  bid  thee, ' ' 

"But,  mevrouw,"  expostulated  the  guard,  "it  is 
against  the  regulations." 

"Then  revise  thy  regulations,  in  the  name  of  common 
sense !  Dost  know  that  there  is  a  starving  boy  dying 
outside  those  gates  ?  Thou  dost  eat  six  meals  a  day ;  he 
dies  for  lack  of  one.  Shame  upon  thee !  Wouldst  banish 
mercy  from  the  earth  for  the  sake  of  regulations  ?  Dost 
thou  not  know  that  human  kindness  overrides  all  regu- 
lations ?  Ach,  thou  dolt ! ' '  And  with  that  she  cried  out 
upon  him  so  fiercely  that  he  fell  back,  stumbling  and 
stammering,  and  threw  back  the  heavy  bars  of  the  gate 
before  he  knew  what  he  was  doing. 

In  rushed  the  watch ;  but  seeing  the  tall,  dark  woman 
standing  there  in  the  glare  of  the  torch-light,  they 
stopped  upon  the  threshold,  surprised  and  abashed. 

"Where  is  this  prisoner?"  she  demanded.  His  car- 
riers laid  him  at  her  feet.  His  eyes  were  shut  and  his 
face  was  white,  and  although  he  was  tall,  he  was  so  fallen 
away  that  he  seemed  scarce  more  than  a  child.  She  knelt 
and  laid  her  hand  on  his  breast  to  know  if  his  heart 
was  still  beating.  It  trembled  faintly  under  her  fingers. 
"Joris,"  she  cried  quickly,  "take  this  poor  lad  into  the 
house,  and  wash  him  thoroughly ;  and,  Joris,  clothe  him 
in  new,  clean  linen,  and  give  him  a  draught  of  Canary; 
and  take  his  rags  and  burn  them  at  once. ' ' 

Joris  stooped  and  picked  him  up ;  the  boy  seemed  but 
a  wisp  of  bone. 


A  Prisoner  97 


Then  Mevrouw  Anneke  Bayard  turned  to  the  captain 
of  the  watch,  who  forthwith  fell  to  mopping  and  mowing 
like  a  clown  at  a  country  fair.  "Get  thee  gone  straight- 
way, ' '  she  said,  * '  and  hunt  thee  some  wits,  for  thou  hast 
none ;  and  for  thy  prisoner  hold  me  responsible. ' '  Turn- 
ing with  a  look  of  scorn,  she  followed  her  serving-man 
into  the  house,  never  even  so  much  as  looking  behind  her. 

There  was  a  good  hot  fire  blazing  half-way  up  the 
chimney  in  the  room  to  which  Joris  carried  the  boy,  and 
on  the  glowing  coals  lay  a  pailful  of  oysters  roasting  in 
their  shells,  some  wide  open,  steaming,  while  others,  still 
closed,  puffed  filmy  jets  of  steam  across  the  hearth.  A 
slice  of  dark  wild-turkey  meat,  with  a  fine,  spicy  savor, 
lay  hot  in  a  pan,  with  frying  cakes  of  hominy  about  it. 

The  boy  opened  his  eyes  and  moved  his  chilled  lips 
with  an  inarticulate  sound.  Though  his  eyes  were  bright, 
he  seemed  to  see  nothing.  His  cheeks  were  beginning  to 
flush. 

"Joris,"  said  Mevrouw  Bayard. 

"Ay,  mevrouw,"  answered  the  servant. 

"Be  quick  and  kind  with  him,  Joris;  the  lad  is  scarce 
himself." 

The  stout  Joris  swiftly  stripped  the  boy  to  his  skin, 
and  laid  him  in  a  big,  white,  copper-hooped  wooden  tub, 
then  poured  in  water  piping-hot  until  the  lad  was  almost 
afloat. 

The  hot  water  took  the  pain  out  of  the  flesh  and  eased 
the  weariness  of  the  boy's  bones;  he  closed  his  eyes  and 
stretched  himself  out  with  a  strange,  sweet  sense  of  ease, 
7 


98  Barnaby  Lee 

sighed  once  or  twice,  and  then  sank  back,  almost  in- 
sensible. His  breath  trembled  through  his  lips,  and  he 
was  as  helpless  as  a  child ;  but  Joris  held  him  upon  his 
arm  and  washed  him  deftly,  growling  to  himself,  from 
time  to  time,  like  a  grim  old  dog,  "Ach,  poor  lad!"  and 
* '  Look  ye,  now ! ' '  for  the  boy  was  covered  with  bruises. 

But  when  Joris  came  to  the  slender  back  and  turned  it 
to  the  light,  he  said  something  suddenly  under  his  breath 
that  made  his  own  hair  stand  up ;  and  * '  Mevrouw ! "  he 
cried  indignantly,  as  he  carried  the  boy,  fresh  clad,  to 
the  other  room,  * '  mevrouw,  the  dirty  villains  have  beaten 
him  like  a  dog!" 

"Poor  boy!"  said  the  younger  woman,  and  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears.  "What  a  life !  and  oh,  Anneke,  see  how 
young  he  is,  and  how  delicate  and  fair ! ' ' 

"And,  juffrouw,  his  hair  is  like  silk,  and  his  skin  is 
as  soft  as  a  girl 's, ' '  said  Joris.  ' '  See,  juffrouw ! ' '  and  he 
laid  the  shirt  back  from  the  boy's  brown  neck.  "And, 
juffrouw,  he  hath  no  trace  of  scurvy,  but  is  sound  as 
a  guilder  piece;  a  good  night's  sleep,  somewhat  to  eat, 
and  a  quiet  rest  will  set  him  up  again." 


CHAPTER  XI 


A   LAND   OP   DREAMS 


SO  they  tucked  the  English  cabin-boy  down  in  a  little 
bed  by  the  fire,  and  left  him  to  rest  and  to  dream. 

But  when  morning  came,  sleep  had  not  done  for  him 
all  that  they  had  hoped  it  would  do,  for  he  lay  in  a  stu- 
por until  noon,  and  then,  but  half  arousing  from  his  stu- 
por, he  wandered  in  his  wits  all  through  the  night,  and 
the  next  day,  and  the  next.  His  mind  was  far  away.  He 
talked  of  strange  countries  where  the  trees  were  as  tall 
as  the  tower  upon  the  village  church,  and  bore  nuts  the 
size  of  a  man's  head;  and  he  told  of  water-spouts  that 
tossed  great  vessels  about  like  chips ;  and  of  fish  that  sang 
in  the  starlight,  and  of  others  that  sailed  with  little  sails 
like  a  fleet  of  fairy  boats ;  and  of  winged  fish  that  sprang 
from  the  sea  and  flew  like  birds  in  the  air ;  and  whispered 
of  fires  that  burned  in  the  water  at  night,  the  spirits  of 
the  drowned,  and,  shuddering,  murmured  of  murder  and 
of  sudden  death. 

Often  and  often  the  girl  who  sat  beside  him  and  damp- 
ened his  burning  lips  with  water  would  put  her  fingers  in 
her  ears  and  hurry  from  the  room,  her  blue  eyes  full  and 
her  voice  trembling  with  indignation.     "Mother,  how 

99 


loo  Barnaby  Lee 

could  they  treat  him  so?"  she  cried.  "I  did  not  think 
that  there  were  men  so  cruel  in  all  the  world ! ' ' 

The  boy  would  often  cover  his  face  with  his  hands  as 
if  to  shut  out  things  he  had  seen. 

At  times  the  blood  in  his  head  throbbed  so  that  it 
seemed  to  him  as  if  it  were  some  one  beating  tattoo  on  a 
water-butt  with  a  hand-spike.  His  ship  seemed  to  be 
going  up  and  down  in  the  trough  of  a  troubled  sea,  years 
without  end,  over  thousands  of  miles  where  no  land  was ; 
and  the  shambling  water  gurgled  and  would  not  be  at 
peace ;  but  everything  went  up  and  down  until  he  could 
bear  it  no  more,  and  cried  out,  *  *  Stop  it !  oh,  stop  it,  and 
leave  me  to  rest ! ' ' 

Then  out  of  the  reeling  helter-skelter  of  the  dream 
came  a  firm,  cool  hand  that  laid  itself  on  his  forehead 
and  steadied  him  a  little,  and  a  woman's  voice  that  said 
cheerily,  "Yes,  we  will  stop  it  as  soon  as  we  can.  So, 
take  this,  now,  down  thy  red  lane,  and  then  we  shall  be 
better  anon."  Thereupon  something  was  put  into  his 
mouth  which  was  both  bitter  and  sweet ;  the  horrible  sense 
of  rolling  ceased,  and  he  drifted  away  to  sleep. 

At  last  he  came  to  a  still,  white  place  where  the  dreams 
and  the  stupor  ended,  and  he  came  back  to  himself  again, 
half-way  between  sleeping  and  waking,  with  a  curious 
giddiness  in  his  head,  which  seemed  somehow  to  be 
strangely  akin  to  an  emptiness  in  his  stomach. 

Half  unconscious,  he  lay  quietly  collecting  his  scat- 
tered wits,  as  yet  not  knowing  at  all  where  he  was,  nor 
being  wide  awake  enough  to  wonder. 


A  Land  of  Dreams  loi 

The  rolling  of  the  sea  was  gone ;  the  sliding  waves  were 
still;  and  instead  of  the  stifle  in  the  ship,  he  smelled  so 
sweet  a  perfume  that  he  thought  he  must  have  fallen 
asleep  in  a  garden  walk  bordered  with  wallflowers. 

His  skin  was  cool  and  pleasantly  moist;  all  his  weari- 
ness was  gone,  and  he  had  not  an  ache  from  his  top  to  his 
toe ;  but  he  was  as  weak  as  a  rag ;  so  he  discovered  as  soon 
as  he  tried  to  move.  And  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  he  was 
aware  of  a  wonder  of  linen  about  him,  as  sweet  and  fresh 
and  clean  and  cool  as  newly  gathered  flowers.  With  the 
wondrous,  grateful  sense  of  absolute  cleanliness  came  the 
deeper  sense  of  a  perfect  peace  in  which  no  sound  jarred 
heavily,  or  was  abrupt  or  noisy,  but  was  softened  and  fell 
smoothly  on  his  drowsy  ear.  Across  his  upturned  face 
a  little  breeze  was  blowing  gently,  bringing  with  it  a 
warm,  rich  odor  as  of  flowers  blooming  in  the  sun,  so  fra- 
grant, thick,  and  fruit-like  that  he  could  almost  taste  it. 
Everything  about  him  was  so  linen-sweet  and  pure,  and 
he  so  clean  and  free  from  pain,  that  he  thought  he  must 
certainly  be  dead  and  somehow  come  into  heaven. 

He  straightway  opened  his  eyes  to  see  the  glory  and 
wonder  around  him,  and  for  a  moment  almost  stopped 
breathing.  He  was  lying  in  a  trundle-bed  beside  a  cheery 
fire,  in  a  white-walled,  beautiful  little  room,  with  dark 
oak-beams  above  him ;  and  all  the  place  was  full  of  light 
and  of  comfort  and  good  cheer,  and  all  about  was  the 
pleasant  sound  of  human  habitation. 

On  a  trivet  in  front  of  the  fire  a  bowl  of  stew  was 
warming,  and  there  was  a  brisk  and  busy  sound  of  bub- 


I02  Barnaby  Lee 

bling  in  a  pot.  The  air  of  the  room  was  perfumed  with 
an  odor  like  that  of  spikenard,  and  on  a  stool  by  the 
hearth  lay  a  bunch  of  wild  bergamot  diffusing  a  pungent 
fragrance. 

In  all  his  life  before  he  had  never  seen  a  place  so  clean, 
nor  dreamed  that  there  could  be  one  so  free  from  dirt 
and  grime.  There  was  not  the  slightest  trace  of  smoke 
upon  the  chimney-curtain;  shovel  and  tongs,  poker  and 
andirons,  the  nose  of  the  carved  bellows,  the  very  chain 
upon  the  spit,  and  the  trammels  that  held  the  pot,  were 
scoured  until  they  sparkled  like  bits  of  burnished  silver. 

The  plastered  walls  were  as  white  as  cream,  and  the 
wainscot  shone  like  satin.  The  nails  in  the  high-backed 
chairs  twinkled  in  the  fire-light;  even  the  saucepan  on 
the  hearth  gleamed  like  a  golden  mirror;  the  very  floor 
was  as  white  as  the  page  of  a  book,  and  over  it  white 
sand  was  strewn  in  wandering  latticework  patterns  aa 
crisp  and  clean  as  winter  frost  upon  a  window-pane. 

The  chimney-corner  and  hearth  were  laid  in  snow- 
white  tiles,  glossy  and  clean  enough  to  have  eaten  from 
if  one  had  had  a  mind  to ;  and  the  jambs  of  the  open  fire- 
place were  set  about  with  tiles  on  which  impossible  little 
blue  farmers  were  driving  improbably  little  blue  horses 
up  tiny  blue  hills  where  little  blue  mills  were  waving  their 
stubby  blue  sails,  and  chubby  blue  boats  as  round  as 
cheeses,  with  little  blue  skippers  as  round  as  churns,  were 
floating  along  on  blue  canals.  On  each  side  of  the  fire- 
place were  high-backed  chimney-seats,  cushioned  with 
leather,  and  curtained  overhead  to  ward  off  the  whis- 


A  Land  of  Dreams  103 

pering  drafts,  while  across  the  mantel  was  stretched 
a  trim  little  curtain  of  print  as  fresh  as  the  skirts  of  a 
demoiselle. 

Everything  was  as  crisply  sweet  and  exquisitely  clean 
as  a  new-blown  April  daffodil,  and  full  of  a  cordial 
wholesomeness  that  filled  the  boy's  heart  with  delight. 
Peacefully  smiling,  he  looked  about  and  merrily  laughed 
to  himself. 

As  he  did  so  he  grew  conscious  of  a  high-keyed,  hum- 
ming sound  that  arose  above  all  the  other  slighter  sounds, 
and  filled  the  air  like  the  hum  of  a  hundred  yellow  bees 
or  the  note  of  a  distant  organ. 

Thrusting  his  arms  behind  him,  he  sat  up,  although  at 
first  his  head  went  round  and  round  with  a  sudden 
giddiness. 

It  was  afternoon,  and  the  day  was  so  bright  that  the 
sunshine  dazzled  him.  The  window-sash  with  its  leaded 
panes  was  open,  and  the  snow-white  linen  curtains  moved 
softly  in  the  light  breeze.  Beyond  the  window  he  saw  a 
tree  against  the  sky,  its  leaves  shaking  in  the  wind,  and 
making  a  sound  like  the  ripple  of  water.  He  could  hear 
a  far-away  bleating  of  sheep,  and  the  distant  sound  of  a 
shingler's  hammer,  and  now  and  then  the  far-off  blowing 
of  a  horn. 

On  the  window-sill  stood  an  hour-glass  in  which  the 
sand  was  running — a  wavering  streak  of  dusty  light  be- 
tween two  sunlit  bubbles;  and  seated  in  the  open  door, 
at  a  little  spinning-wheel,  with  her  eyes  upon  the  hour- 
glass, sat  a  young  girl  spinning  flax. 


^^4  Barnaby  Lee 

Her  little  foot  made  the  treadle  fly.  She  had  slipped 
off  and  set  aside  her  shoe,  and  her  slender,  crimson- 
stockinged  ankle  danced  in  the  sunlight.  Her  lips  were 
slightly  parted;  her  blue  eyes  were  bright;  her  slender 
fingers  seemed  bewitched  as  they  drew  out  the  shining 
thread.  The  sunshine  falling  across  her  face  filled  her 
lips  with  a  ruddy  glow ;  the  flying  shadows  played  among 
the  hollows  of  her  braided  hair ;  her  own  slim  shadow  on 
the  floor  was  pretty  as  a  picture.  She  was  fairer  than 
the  fairest  English  girl  the  cabin-boy  had  ever  seen ;  but 
of  who  she  was  or  where  he  was  he  had  not  the  least  idea. 
He  watched  the  thread  spin  out  like  the  cobwebs  of  a 
dream. 

Then,  all  at  once,  she  snapped  her  thread  and  stopped 
the  flying  wheel,  slipped  on  her  small  buckled  shoe,  and, 
springing  to  her  feet,  turned  with  laughing  countenance 
to  the  hour-glass.  *  *  I  have  beaten  thee  again,  old  snail ! ' ' 
she  said  merrily.  "I  have  spun  three  skeins,  and  still 
thou  art  not  run  out.  Thou  art  a  lazy-bones ! ' '  She  took 
up  the  glass,  and  was  shaking  it  to  hurry  the  lingering 
sand,  when  her  eyes  met  those  of  the  wondering  boy. 

Her  bright  face  paled  with  quick  concern,  then  flushed 
with  eager  pleasure;  for  by  his  questioning  expression 
she  saw  that  he  had  come  to  himself. 

Quickly  laying  her  finger  upon  her  lips,  she  hurried 
across  the  room.  "Mother,"  she  called  at  the  inner  door, 
"mother,  the  boy  is  himself  again." 


A  Land  of  Dreams  105 

When  Barnaby  Lee  awoke  from  the  sleep  into  which 
he  fell  shortly  thereafter,  the  day  was  done,  the  candles 
were  lighted,  and  the  little  fire  was  glowing  cheerily  on 
the  hearth.  The  bowl  of  stew  was  empty,  and  upon  a 
settle  by  the  bed  was  a  glass  of  Moselle  in  which  a  few 
sharp  herbs  had  steeped.  "That  's  very  bitter,"  said 
Barnaby,  making  a  faint  grimace. 

"Things  that  are  good  for  us  always  are,"  said  the 
girl,  who  stood  by  the  bedside;  "and  some  of  them  are 
bitterer  than  feverwort.  Nay,  do  not  answer  me,"  she 
said ;  ' '  speech  is  not  good  for  thee.  Thou  hast  been  ill  for 
a  month  or  more,  and  thy  brains  are  no  bigger  than 
that."  She  held  up  her  little  finger-tip,  and  her  merry 
blue  eyes  twinkled. 

He  did  not  speak,  but  still  looked  up  at  her  with  a 
questioning,  troubled  face. 

"Nay,  now  thou  art  thinking,"  she  said ;  "and  it  is  not 
good  for  thee.  Think  not  at  all ;  content  thyself  with 
rest ;  there  will  be  plenty  of  time  for  thought  when  thou 
art  grown  stronger.  Sleep,  boy,  and  rest  thy  weary 
bones,  and  I  will  do  thy  thinking  for  thee.  I  am  a  master 
thinker.  I  know  what  thou  wouldst  ask  without  thine 
asking;  I  have  a  wizard  in  my  wits  and  I  know  many 
wonderful  things.  But  let  this  be  enough.  Thou  art  in 
the  Director-General 's  house  in  the  fort  at  New  Amster- 
dam, and  thou  shalt  soon  be  sound  again  if  care  can  make 
thee  so.  Then  what  shall  befall  I  know  not;  that  ex- 
ceedeth  my  knowledge.    But  when  thou  hast  gotten  thy 


io6  Barnaby  Lee 

strength  again  and  the  Director-General  cometh,  then  we 
shall  see  what  we  shall  see,  and  know  what  we  shall  know, 
for  he  is  the  father  of  the  law,  and  sitteth  in  the  judg- 
ment, and  Justice  goeth  behind  the  door  until  he  hath  had 
his  say.  And  that  is  enough  for  thee  to  know  until  he 
comes;  I  shall  not  tell  thee  any  more  lest  thou  shouldst 
have  a  nightmare." 

Then,  stooping  by  the  bedside,  she  smoothed  the  crum- 
pled pillows.  "Sleep,  lad,"  she  said,  "and  the  just  Lord 
God  shall  say  what  will  betide.  We  are  the  sheep  of  His 
pasture,  and  our  days  lie  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand. 
Dost  say  thy  prayers?  Then  pray  with  me  that  God 
will  keep  us  every  one  in  safety.  And  sleep,  for  thou  hast 
much  need  of  it. ' ' 

For  an  instant  she  bent  and  brushed  his  hair  back 
from  his  forehead.  With  the  cool,  sweet  firmness  of  her 
fingers  a  sense  of  peace  and  rest  seemed  spread  across 
his  mind.  ' '  Good  night ;  rest  well ! ' '  she  said,  and  turn- 
ing, she  blew  out  one  candle,  and  taking  up  the  other, 
left  the  lad  to  his  own  thoughts. 

A  little  while  he  lay  awake,  striving  to  knit  his  wits 
together;  then  the  tired  brain  said,  "No;  we  need  a  good 
sleep  more ! ' '  and  silence  came  and  filled  the  little  room 
with  peace. 

And  this  was  Whitsun-Tuesday,  in  the  end  of  the 
month  of  May. 


CHAPTER  XII 


THE   DIRECTOR-GENERAL 


IT  was  an  evening,  and  the  rain  was  pouring  down. 
The  lights  had  been  out  a  good  while,  and  there  was 
ho  sound  but  the  hoarse  calling  of  the  sentinels  on  the 
wall,  and  the  dash  of  the  rain  beating  against  the  win- 
dows. 

Now  and  then  a  door  would  open  somewhere  in  the 
house,  and  the  lead-cased  window-sashes  would  rattle 
with  the  draft.  Men's  voices  came  and  went  by  inter- 
vals, half  muffled  by  the  rain,  with  the  tramp  of  weary 
horses  and  the  heavy  clash  of  arms.  There  was  a  new 
sound  in  the  house.  The  rain-drip  seemed  to  come  in- 
doors, to  gather  into  footsteps,  and  to  walk  with  a  heavy, 
measured  tread  about  the  floors.  Then  the  voices  and  the 
footsteps  ceased  and  everything  was  still. 

Bamaby  lay  sleeping  in  a  press-bed  in  the  wall.  His 
strength  had  grown  with  the  flying  days,  and  he  slept 
very  soundly. 

A  press-bed  is  a  strange  one,  built  into  the  wainscot 
like  a  closet,  with  folding  doors  which  stand  open  at 
night,  so  that  the  sleeper  may  have  fresh  air.  The  mat- 
tress rests  upon  a  shelf  which  runs  the  length  of  the 
closet,  and  the  pillows  lie  at  the  head  of  the  shelf  behind 

107 


io8  Barnaby  Lee 

short  curtains  of  print.  The  sleeper  in  a  press-bed,  like 
a  hermit  in  his  cave,  peers  forth  unseen,  reviews  the 
world,  but  takes  no  part  in  its  affairs. 

So,  like  a  hermit,  Barnaby  lay  oblivious  to  everything, 
ten  thousand  miles  away  in  dreamland.  How  long  he 
slept  he  did  not  know ;  perhaps  it  was  an  hour.  Then  a 
rustling  of  papers,  the  rattling  of  steel,  the  scraping  of 
damp  powder  from  the  pan  of  a  flint-lock  pistol,  the 
smell  of  meat,  and  the  thumping  of  an  unfamiliar  foot- 
fall, gathered  through  the  roar  of  the  down-pouring 
rain,  and  with  them  light,  that  crept  into  the  crannies 
of  the  wall :  Barnaby  grew  conscious  of  a  presence. 

At  first  he  thought  he  dreamed  it;  then,  waking,  was 
assured  of  it.  In  through  the  cracks  of  the  press-bed 
came  a  streak  of  candle-light,  and  in  the  room  beyond  the 
little  sheltering  curtains  of  print  was  the  almost  inaudi- 
ble, but  unmistakable,  constant  whisper  of  sound  that 
reveals  a  living  presence  in  a  room.  Drowsily  turning 
over,  Barnaby  pushed  open  the  shutter,  and  drawing  back 
the  little  curtain,  looked  out. 

On  the  center-table  six  candles,  standing  in  a  clump, 
were  burning  together  in  a  haze  of  light,  and  in  an  arm- 
chair by  the  table  sat  a  dark,  brooding  man,  with  a  plat- 
ter of  bread  and  meat  before  him  and  a  flagon  of  wine 
by  his  side.  He  was  clad  in  raiment  somber  in  color  and 
severe  in  style,  but  of  rich  material  and  handsome  make. 
His  broad  white  linen  collar  drooped  upon  his  shoulders ; 
his  jacket  w-as  black  velvet  with  slashes  at  the  elbows, 
through  which  his  fine  white  shirt-sleeves  puffed  like 


The  Director-General        109 

bursting  eotton-boUs.  Upon  his  breast  was  a  golden 
brooch  with  a  coat  of  arms  upon  it,  token  of  honorable 
service  in  wars  long  since  gone  by,  and  now  forgotten  by 
the  world,  but  not  by  him. 

On  the  wall  behind  him  his  shadow  hung  like  a  cloud ; 
but  his  grim  face,  lighted  by  the  candle-glow,  stood 
bright  against  the  gloom.  He  was  dark-skinned,  dark- 
eyed,  iron-mouthed,  and  stem,  with  a  high-arched  nose 
like  an  eagle's  beak,  and  a  fierce  but  scholarly  brow. 
His  chin  was  bare,  but  his  upper  lip  was  fringed  by  a 
short  mustache.  On  his  head  he  wore  a  tight  skull-cap 
of  fine  black  India  silk,  which  seemed  to  add  new  dark- 
ness to  his  already  gloomy  countenance. 

At  his  elbow,  over  the  back  of  a  chair,  hung  a  heavy 
cloak,  from  which  the  exhaling  dampness  rose  in  a  faint 
gray  cloud  of  steam.  Over  the  cloak  hung  a  leather  belt, 
with  a  short,  straight,  common-appearing  sword,  beside 
which  leaned  a  cross-topped,  ivory-headed  staff. 

In  the  shadow  under  the  table  was  one  foot  thrusting 
its  buckled  shoe  against  the  table-leg.  There  was  only 
one ;  the  other  was  gone,  and  the  leg  of  the  man  was  gone 
with  it.  He  wore  instead  a  wooden  leg,  fashioned  of 
ebony  strengthened  by  silver  bands,  and  strapped  fast  to 
his  thigh.  The  lower  end  of  this  wooden  leg  protruded 
across  the  floor,  unbending  and  comfortless,  and  forever 
unfitting  the  wearer  for  leading  a  soldier's  life. 

When  Bamaby  saw  that  ebony  leg  with  the  silver 
bands  upon  it,  his  heart  sprang  up  until  it  seemed  to  be 
beating  against  the  cords  of  his  throat,  and  all  at  once  he 


1 1  o  Barnaby  Lee 

was  hot  and  cold  as  if  with  a  chill  and  a  fever.  For  along 
the  Atlantic  coast  men  well  knew  that  wooden  leg- 
wooden  leg,  iron  heart,  and  the  hand  of  the  mighty  hater, 
who  made  the  English  along  those  shores  go  quaking  in 
their  shoes. 

It  was  Peter  Stuyvesant,  the  Director-General  of  the 
colony  of  the  Dutch,  a  man  more  feared  by  his  jealous 
foes  than  were  all  the  rest  of  the  Dutch  together.  They 
called  him  the  "Bull  in  the  China-shop"  and  the  "Lame 
Peacock ' ' ;  but  they  feared  him.  They  called  him  * '  old. ' ' 
He  was  not  old,  but  only  worn  with  bitter  care  and  many 
disappointments.  They  called  him  "His  Majesty," 
"Peter  the  King,"  and  mocked  him  behind  his  back; 
but  when  they  met  him  face  to  face  they  honored  him. 
Shrewd  of  head  and  ready  of  hand,  the  English  mar- 
veled at  him,  and,  opposed  by  even  those  whom  he  ruled, 
he  sat  upon  his  throne  as  fierce,  as  dark,  and  as  solitary 
as  an  eagle  on  a  cliff.  His  leg  he  had  left  at  St.  Thomas, 
in  battle  with  the  Spanish,  and  here,  in  the  director-gen- 
eralship of  a  struggling  New- World  colony,  he  was  pen- 
sioned off,  like  an  old  lame  dog,  with  a  kennel  and  a  bone 
— and  a  poor  enough  bone,  in  all  conscience.  But  there 
was  that  in  the  gleam  of  his  haughty  eyes,  and  in  his  air 
of  harsh  authority,  that  drew  men  of  fine,  high  temper 
to  him  like  swords  to  a  magnet ;  and  Barnaby,  fascinated, 
lay  there,  peering  at  him  through  the  curtains,  unable 
to  turn  away  his  glance,  and  scarcely  daring  to  breathe. 

On  the  table  before  the  Governor  lay  long  accounts  and 
letters  on  which  his  dark  eyes  glowered  like  smoldering 


The  Director-General        1 1 1 

coals.  As  he  read,  he  was  eating  meat  and  cheese  with 
a  crust  of  hard  black  bread,  and  drinking  wine  from  the 
flagon.  But  as  he  read  he  ate  less  and  less,  and  finally 
not  at  all.  He  held  the  flagon  of  wine  awhile  untouched 
in  his  upraised  hand,  then  set  it  down,  his  face  dark  with 
gathering  wrath,  and  spreading  the  rattling  paper  out 
before  him  upon  the  table,  he  set  his  clenched  hands  one 
upon  each  side  of  it,  and  so  perused  it  to  the  end.  Then 
he  suddenly  raised  his  fist  with  a  look  of  uncontrollable 
fury,  and  struck  the  open  page  as  if  it  were  the  coun- 
tenance of  a  man  he  hated.  * '  Had  I  thee  here, ' '  he  said, 
"I  would  hang  thee  as  high  as  Haman!  I  would  have 
thine  head  from  thy  shoulders  for  these  wild  deeds  of 
thine !  Appeal  to  Holland  1  Thou  shouldst  appeal  with 
thine  head  upon  a  tray ! '  * 

Then  he  sank  back  into  his  chair  with  his  hand  above 
his  eyes,  and  a  gloom  came  over  him  like  a  shadow.  "I 
am  playing  my  cards  alone,"  he  said,  *4ike  a  fool  at  a 
king's  court.  What  is  to  be  done?"  Here  he  sighed 
heavily.  "Nay,  not  what  is  to  be  done,  for  that  is  plain 
to  see ;  but  how  to  do  what  needs  be  done !  I  cannot  see 
the  way."  He  shook  his  head,  and  dropped  his  hand 
with  a  weary,  baffled  gesture  upon  the  table,  and  in  their 
hollow  sockets  his  dark  eyes  gleamed  fitfully.  "There 
needeth  a  man,  or  we  are  all  undone.  And  given  the 
man,  what  then?  Nay,  I  cannot  see  how  to  contrive!" 
With  a  gesture  of  despair,  he  took  up  a  pen  and  began 
the  draft  of  a  letter. 


112  Barnaby  Lee 

**To  the  Honorable,  Wise  and  Prudent,  the  Very  Dis- 
creet States-General!" 

"'Wise  and  Prudent'?  Bah!"  said  he.  ''Long 
Island  is  lost  and  gone  from  our  hands.  The  farmers  at 
the  Red  Hill  are  driven  from  their  steadings.  The  Eng- 
lish throng  upon  us  everywhere,  and  flourish  like  evil 
weeds.  They  even  beard  us  in  our  gates,  and  make  a 
mock  of  us.  Oh,  for  the  power  to  wage  just  war !  I  would 
still  hold  them  off!" 

Then  he  was  silent,  while  his  pen  ran  over  the  paper. 

^' Haste;  make  haste,  mynheeren!^'  he  wrote  below  the 
letter  when  finished,  "7n  God's  name,  haste!" 

"They  would  not  haste  if  the  Binnenhof  were  falling 
upon  their  heads. ' ' 

With  that  the  sorely  handled  pen  split  up  between  his 
fingers,  and  a  great  blot  streaked  the  page.  He  sat  up 
with  blazing  eyes,  and  did  not  trust  himself  to  touch  the 
ill-starred  letter-draft  again.  "Mynheer  Van  Ruyter," 
he  called.    "What!    Here!" 

The  thin  man  .in  the  snuff-brown  suit  came  in  hastily 
from  an  anteroom,  and  fell  to  snuffing  the  candles  to 
cover  his  nervousness.  "Your  Excellency,"  he  began, 
"Most  Gracious  and  Valorous!—" 

' '  Tssst ! ' '  said  Stuy  vesant,  ' '  don 't  waste  the  time ;  take 
that  all  for  granted,  and  come  to  the  point. ' ' 

Mynheer  Van  Ruyter  trembled  so  that  he  put  out  the 
candle  he  was  snuffing. 

"Let  be,  mynheer;  we  are  dark  enough  now!"  said 
Stuyvesant,    impatiently.     "Nor   cross   me   more   with 


The  Director-General        113 

empty  words :  I  am  troubled  enough  already.  Copy  me 
this  letter,  and  quickly;  it  must  go  on  The  Keys  of  Cal- 
mar  at  ebb-tide  in  the  morning. ' ' 

The  Director-General  sank  back  into  his  chair  again 
with  his  chin  on  his  breast. 

There  was  now  no  sound  but  the  nervous  scratching 
of  the  Secretary's  pen  and  the  ceaseless  rush  of  the  rain. 
Barnaby  slowly  moved  himself,  for  he  had  grown  a  little 
stiff,  and  his  shoulder  ached  from  lying  in  one  position. 
Softly  rubbing  his  cramped  arm,  he  lay  back  upon  the 
pillow.  There  was  so  much  comfort  in  the  bed,  and  the 
linen  was  so  sweet  and  cool,  that  he  relaxed  his  tired 
muscles  with  a  little  sigh.  The  Director-General  raised 
his  head  at  that,  and  looked  around  the  room.  But  as 
he  did  so  the  Secretary  pushed  the  finished  letter  from 
him,  and  taking  up  the  sand-box,  shook  sand  across  the 
sheet  to  absorb  the  undried  ink.  The  Director-General 
turned  back,  and  staring  at  the  candles,  said  bitterly, 
'*  Mynheer,  are  we  but  a  puppet-play,  that  men  may 
handle  us  with  strings  and  laugh  to  see  us  caper  ? ' ' 

The  Secretary  clasped  his  hands  apprehensively  be- 
neath the  table. 

"I  am  to  pay  the  burgomasters  and  sheriffs  out  of  the 
municipal  chest,  and  the  municipal  chest  is  empty, ' '  con- 
tinued the  Director-General,  savagely. 

The  Secretary  bowed  his  head,  and  looked  uncomfort- 
able. 

"And  I  am  to  build  the  city  wall,  and  there  is  nothing 
with  which  to  build  it.    And  I  am  to  exterminate  the 


114  Barnaby  Lee 

savages;  yet  the  mad  tradesmen  of  this  city  sell  them 
guns,  and  powder  by  the  keg.  I  am  bidden  to  hold  our 
boundaries  against  whatever  trespass,  and  to  maintain 
our  title  against  every  claim  with  adequate  resistance; 
but  I  must  use  no  force.  I  am  to  wage  successful  war, 
and  never  shoot  a  gun." 

''War?"  stammered  the  Secretary.  "What  mad,  un- 
happy thought  is  this?  Your  Excellency,  it  is  such  peace 
that  not  so  much  as  a  dog  doth  wag  his  tail. ' ' 

Stuyvesant  looked  into  the  Secretary's  flinching  eyes. 

"Mynheer  Van  Ruyter,"  he  said,  slowly,  "I  say  unto 
you,  in  the  words  of  the  old  proverb,  'Beware  of  a  dog 
that  does  not  wag  his  tail.'  You  call  it  peace,  and  are 
content  because  everything  seems  still.  I  tell  you.  Myn- 
heer Van  Ruyter,  there  is  danger  in  the  wind." 

Van  Ruyter  turned  suddenly  pale. 

"A  crisis  hath  arisen,"  continued  Stuyvesant,  "which 
we  must  meet  with  instant  action,  or  reap  a  hurricane.  I 
need  a  man  for  a  critical  mission.  He  must  be  crafty, 
wise,  and  true,  sure  and  ready,  quick  at  argument,  smooth 
and  soft,  a  gentleman  and  a  courtier,  brave,  and  able  to 
stand  for  himself,  unsupported,  as  if  the  universe  backed 
him.  If  not  these,  we  are  undone.  Name  him,  m/nheer; 
I  need  him. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XIII 

**A   SWORDEB   AND   A   BRAVO " 

NAME  me  the  man  for  this  mission,  Mynheer  Van 
Ruyter, ' '  said  the  Director-General,  beating  on  the 
table  with  his  fist. 

The  Secretary  wrung  his  hands  until  his  knuckles 
cracked:  ''I  know  none  such,  your  Excellency,  unless, 
perchance,  you  go  yourself. ' ' 

Stuyvesant  looked  at  Van  Ruyter  in  scorn.  "A  fool," 
said  he,  "doth  truckle  when  he  is  asked  for  truth. 
"There  is  no  man  whom  I  dare  trust  except  Captain 
Martin  Kregier ;  no  man  save  him  alone  of  whom  I  may 
command  devoted  service. ' ' 

The  Secretary  bit  his  lip.  "Your  hand  hath  lain  too 
heavily  to  be  beloved,  your  Excellency, ' ' 

"To  be  beloved?"  said  Stuyvesant,  with  a  grim  look. 
"Nay;  men  take  me  like  a  medicine— not  for  love,  but 
because  they  must.  It  is  the  penalty  of  power  that  I  have 
lost  my  friends.  I  trust  I  shall  never  prove  so  weak  as 
to  lose  mine  enemies ! ' ' 

As  he  spoke  he  turned,  with  a  bitter  face,  to  the  papers 
upon  the  table.  ' '  Willem  Beeckman  writeth  me  that  there 
have  been  no  arrests;  that  Glerrit  Van  Sweringen  still 

115 


1 1 6  Barnaby  Lee 

goes  free,  and  hath  not  given  bail,  but  hath  appealed  to 
Holland  in  defiance  of  us  all, ' ' 

The  Secretary  shivered.  "Gerrit  Van  Sweringen  is 
here." 

'  *  Here  1 ' '  said  Stuyvesant.    ' '  What  doth  he  here  1 ' ' 

"Whatever  pleaseth  him,  your  Excellency,  as  he  doth 
everywhere,"  said  Van  Ruyter,  twisting  his  hands  to- 
gether under  the  table. 

"Then  why  have  ye  not  taken  him?"  exclaimed  the 
Director-General.  "Why  have  ye  not  taken  him  and 
hanged  him  out  of  hand?" 

"He  hath  been— he  hath  been  in  Bushwyck,"  the  Sec- 
retary stammered. 

"Then  why  didst  say  that  he  was  here?  Thou  saidst 
that  he  was  here." 

"Here,  there,  and  everywhere,"  replied  the  Secretary, 
desperately.  ' '  One  cannot  lay  finger  upon  him,  and  dare 
not  if  one  could.  He  walketh  the  streets  as  bold  and  free 
as  any  man,  with  a  long  sword  dangling  by  his  side,  and 
pistols  in  his  belt.  He  is  a  rapier-rattling  firebrand,  a 
sworder  and  a  bravo. ' ' 

Peter  Stuyvesant  knit  his  brows  and  stared  at  the  can- 
dle-flame until  the  pupils  of  his  eyes  were  scarcely  more 
than  pin-points  in  the  light.  "  'A  rapier-rattling  fire- 
brand, a  sworder  and  a  bravo,"  he  muttered  bitterly 
to  himself.  "It  hath  a  merry  sound.  He  hath  two  feet, 
and  goeth  through  the  world  like  a  soldier.  'A  rapier- 
rattling  firebrand,  a  sworder  and  a  bravo ' !  Who  would 
not  be  a  bravo  with  all  that  the  fellow  hath?    A  head  to 


"A  Sworder  and  A  Bravo "   117 

think,  a  hand  to  fight,  and  youth  to  back  it  all— a  bold 
heart  and  a  ready  sword.  Why,  the  world  is  at  his 
feet!" 

Then  suddenly  a  sparkle  illumined  his  fierce,  unhappy 
eyes;  he  sat  up  swiftly  in  the  chair,  and  struck  his  fists 
together.  "Upon  my  soul,"  he  muttered,  "there  have 
been  worse  adventures."  His  voice,  for  a  moment, 
caught  the  ring  of  youth.  "Ay,  there  have  been  worse 
adventures,  and  on  hazards  more  forlorn!"  He  almost 
laughed  at  a  fantastic  humor  which  filled  his  mind. 
"He  is  a  man  of  parts;  hath  wit;  writeth  like  a  coun- 
selor; he  cometh  of  noble  blood."  Suddenly  turning  to 
his  secretary:  "Is  Captain  Martin  Kregier  here!"  he 
asked.  "Call  Captain  Kregier."  Then  he  sat  with  a 
new,  eager  air,  until  Captain  Martin  Kregier  came  strid- 
ing in. 

A  fearless  old  mustache  was  he,  resolute  in  action,  bold 
of  heart,  blunt  in  demeanor,  and  from  head  to  foot  the 
brownest  man  in  New  Amsterdam.  His  face  was 
browned  by  wind  and  sun ;  his  short,  curly  hair  made  a 
crisp  brown  fringe  at  the  edge  of  his  brown  steel  cap. 
His  high-topped  leather  boots  were  brown;  so  were  his 
shabby  old  breeches.  His  dented  breastplate  was  wea- 
thered brown  and  scarred  by  many  a  long,  hard  cam- 
paign. The  sword  which  swung  at  his  side  was,  like 
himself,  short,  stout,  and  brown,  and  when  he  spoke  his 
very  voice  seemed  almost  brown,  it  was  so  burly  and  so 
bluff.  "Here  am  I,  your  Excellency,"  he  said,  and 
stood  there  like  a  ramrod,  with  his  hand  to  his  cap 's  rim. 


1 1 3  Barnaby  Lee 

''Kregier,"  asked  the  Director-General,  "dost  know 
Gerrit  Van  Sweringen  ? ' ' 

* '  Mynheer  Gerrit  Van  Sweringen  ? ' ' 

"Either  with  or  without  the  'mynheer'!" 

A  flush  crept  up  the  soldier's  cheek.  "I  fought  him 
once, ' '  said  he. 

* '  So  ?    Then  thou  knowest  him  passing  well. '  * 

"I  know  him  well  enough.  He  threw  my  sword  into 
the  cabbage-patch.    I  do  not  speak  with  him. ' ' 

Stuyvesant  's  eyes  began  to  dance  as  if  at  the  far-away 
ringing  of  swords ;  a  light  waked  in  their  depths,  yet  still 
he  frowned  grimly.  ' '  They  tell  me  he  hath  been  lording 
it  here  in  our  streets  like  a  master. ' ' 

Captain  Kregier's  head  went  back,  and  his  broad, 
square  shoulders  straightened.  "Why  not?"  he  said 
quietly.  "He  maketh  it  good,  and  that  is  a  soldier's 
title.  The  streets  belong  to  men  of  brawn  and  brain. 
The  rest  may  go  walk  in  the  alleys. ' ' 

' '  Then  I  would  thou  wert  a  man  of  brain, ' '  said  Stuy- 
vesant. "I  would  lay  thee  a  street  that  should  reach 
from  here  to  everlasting  glory ;  for  thou  art  faithful  and 
true,  and  devoted  in  our  service.  I  would  trust  thee 
with  my  life— and  with  my  honor,  too." 

The  soldier 's  quiet  eyes  were  steady.  "  I  am  but  what 
I  am,"  he  replied.  "The  good  God  did  not  give  me 
brains.  Perhaps  it  was  His  purpose ;  brains  are  not  re- 
quired by  army  regulations.    I  can  do  as  I  am  bid. ' ' 

Stuyvesant  nodded.  * '  I  know  that,  Kregier, ' '  he  said. 
"We  have  used  thee  hard  and  long,  and  on  many  a  try- 


"A  Sworder  and  A  Bravo  "    1 1  g 

ing  campaign.  T  is  good ;  but  alas !  not  good  enough- 
like  the  heel  of  the  old  Achilles.  There  cometh  a  place 
where  bidding  ends,  and  a  man  must  think  for  himself. 
I  need  a  man  who  thinks,  and  need  him  most  bitterly." 
With  that  he  was  silent,  and  leaned  upon  the  chair-arm, 
his  chin  set  in  his  half-clenched  hand,  and  his  eyes  flam- 
ing darkly.  "What  doth  Gerrit  Van  Sweringen  here?" 
he  asked. 

The  captain  looked  his  governor  square  in  the  face. 
"He  doeth  very  many  things  that  others  leave  undone." 

Mynheer  Van  Ruyter's  telltale  eyes  began  to  cringe. 

"It  was  he,"  continued  Kregier,  "and  Jan  Reyndert- 
sen,  the  gunner,  who  headed  the  volunteer  company  that 
took  the  English  picaroons. ' ' 

"That  took  the  English  picaroons!"  exclaimed  Stuy- 
resant.  "Mynheer  Van  Ruyter,  I  was  not  informed  of 
this." 

The  Secretary  tried  vainly  to  meet  the  Director-Gen- 
eral's gaze.  "Your  Excellency,"  he  began,  "there  were 
some  other  things — ' ' 

"That  were  more  to  thy  credit,"  said  Stuyvesant. 

The  Secretary  shrank  beneath  that  withering  scrutiny, 
and  fumbled  nervously  among  the  papers  on  his  desk. 

"If  thou  wouldst  shuffle  less  and  deal  more  manfully," 
said  the  Director-General,  with  scorn,  ' '  thou  wouldst  not 
have  to  lie  awake  so  many  nights  for  shame.  Get  thee  to 
bed ;  there  is  no  place  for  cowards  in  my  council ;  I  will 
call  the  corporal  to  see  thee  safe  home. ' ' 

When  Van  Ruyter  had  gone,  Stuyvesant  turned  and 


I  20  Barnaby  Lee 

looked  at  Kregier.  **  Captain  Kregier,"  he  said,  "who 
doeth  as  he  is  bid,  suppose  I  bade  thee  take  this  man,  this 
Gerrit  Van  Sweringen  ? ' ' 

Kregier  answered  quietly :  "  I  should  order  me  a  coffin, 
a  well-made  nut-wood  coffin  with  silver  handles  to  it ;  then 
I  should  go  and  try  to  take  him." 

Stuyvesant  smiled ;  it  was  a  grim,  pleased  smile ;  then 
for  a  moment  he  was  silent.  ' '  Suppose  I  bade  thee  fetch 
him  here?" 

'  *  I  could  make  a  fair  endeavor. ' ' 

"Then  make  thy  fair  endeavor,"  said  the  Director- 
General;  "for  I  would  speak  with  him." 

Kregier  touched  his  battered  cap,  turned  on  his  heel, 
and  was  gone  without  a  word. 


CHAPTER  Xiy 

AT  WOLFEBT  WEBBER 'S  TAVEBN 

At  Wolfert  Webber's  tavern,  just  beyond  the  city 
XJl  wall,  two  belated  burghers  sat  in  the  tap-room, 
drinking  schnapps  together.  The  rain  poured  upon  the 
roof ;  now  and  again  out  of  the  west  there  came  a  heavy 
peal  of  thunder.  Again  and  again  the  thunder  rolled 
over  the  hills.  At  last  there  came  a  louder  peal  than  all 
that  had  gone  before  it.  The  two  burghers  put  down 
their  pots  and  listened. 

"Hei!  What  is  that?"  cried  one.  ''Not  thunder, 
Pieter  Van  der  Hoogh?" 

"Ja,  Gooeen;  that  was  thunder." 

**Ach,  so?  Well,  then  it  will  rain  some  more;  we  will 
not  go  home  just  yet. ' ' 

**Ja,  that  is  true;  it  will  rain  some  more;  we  will  not 
go  home  just  yet.  Herein,  Wolfert!  bring  us  some 
schnapps.  We  are  not  going  home  just  yet.  Prut !  the 
fatherland  was  better  than  this.  When  the  rain  there 
was  over  it  stopped.  Hast  thou  heard  the  news  from  the 
cattle  sale?" 

"What  news?    I  have  heard  no  news." 

"The  Man  from  Troublesome  Comer  bought  forty 
head  of  cattle." 

121 


122  Barnaby  Lee 

** Forty  head?" 

"Ja,  forty  head;  and  paid  for  them  in  money." 

"Seawant?    Wampum?" 

"Nay;  good  gold.    There  was  a  bag  of  it." 

"Where  did  he  get  it?     They  say  he  is  a  robber.'* 

' '  Nay,  now ;  he  is  the  sheriff. ' ' 

**Ach!  well,  that  is  much  the  same." 

A  man  who  sat  at  a  table  behind  them,  eating  his  sup- 
per alone,  pricked  up  his  ears  and  listened,  and  a  curious 
smile  came  creeping  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 
His  cloak  was  running  with  rain,  and  his  broad-brimmed 
hat  was  dripping  wet.    The  talk  went  on : 

"Dost  think  that  they  will  hang  him  for  slaying  Har- 
men  Hendricksen  ? " 

* '  I  think  they  needs  must  catch  him  first. '  * 

"Ja,  SO;  they  must  catch  him  first.  But  there  is  no 
price  on  his  head." 

"No  price  on  his  head?"  said  the  other.  "Ach!  then 
it  is  not  worth  my  while."  He  heaved  a  sigh,  and  set 
down  his  mug  of  schnapps. 

"Wouldst  catch  him  if  there  were  a  price?" 

"Like  a  beaver-trap." 

"Ach,  so?— just  like  a  beaver-trap?" 

"Just  like  a  beaver-trap." 

"Dost  know  him?"  asked  the  first  speaker,  in  awe  and 
admiration. 

"  Ja,  very  well.  He  is  a  rogue  as  large  as  both  of  us, 
and  goeth  abroad  with  a  brace  of  silver-mounted  pistols 
in  his  belt,  and  a  rapier  nigh  on  to  three  ells  long." 


At  Wolfert  Webber's  Tavern  123 

"Tut,  tut!  and  wouldst  thou  face  him?" 

"Let  me  see  him  once,  I  would  tie  him  in  a  bow-knot 
and  bring  him  home  behind  my  saddle.  He  is  a  blusterer, 
a  swasher,  a  braggart,  a  coward !  I  would  show  him  what 
a  man  is,  let  me  see  him  once.    Pah,  I  say ! ' ' 

The  man  at  the  table  behind  them  took  a  bit  of  cheese, 
and  rolling  it  into  a  ball,  filliped  it  with  his  thumb.  It 
sped  like  a  bullet  across  the  room,  and  striking  the  boast- 
ful speaker  square  on  the  tip  of  his  nose,  it  stuck  there. 

Clapping  his  hand  to  his  face,  the  burgher  sprang  to 
his  feet. 

' '  Who  did  that  ? "  he  cried.  ' '  Didst  thou  ? ' '  And  he 
caught  his  companion  by  the  throat. 

"Did  what?"  gasped  his  companion,  and  struggled 
to  throw  him  off. 

"My  nose!"  he  cried  in  a  fury.  "Somebody  shot  my 
nose  with  cheese.  I  should  like  to  know  who  did  it ! "  He 
glared  at  the  quiet  stranger,  who  was  placidly  buttering 
a  piece  of  bread.  But  the  stranger  went  on  buttering, 
and  scarce  raised  his  eyes.  "I  should  like  to  know  who 
did  that ! ' '  cried  the  furious  burgher,  almost  beside  him- 
self with  rage.  "Who  shot  my  nose  with  a  cream- 
cheese  ? ' ' 

The  stranger  looked  up.  He  was  a  handsome  young 
man,  and  his  face  was  serene  and  peaceful.  "How  much 
wouldst  thou  give, ' '  he  asked,  * '  to  know  who  shot  thy  nose 
with  the  cream-cheese?" 

The  burgher  could  scarcely  speak  for  anger. 

"I  would  give  a  guilder!"  he  sputtered. 


124  Barnaby  Lee 

"Then  give  me  the  guilder,"  said  the  stranger.  "It 
was  I  who  shot  thy  nose  with  the  cream-cheese. ' ' 

As  he  spoke  he  leaned  hack,  smiling,  with  his  head 
against  the  wall;  but  although  his  mouth  was  merry 
enough,  his  eyes  looked  dangerous. 

The  burgher  ran  across  the  room  toward  him.  *  *  Thou 
shottest  my  nose?"  he  roared.  "Thou  shottest  my  nose 
with  the  cream-cheese  ?    Death 's  talons !  who  art  thou  ? ' ' 

The  young  man's  tone  was  as  soft  as  silk  and  as  smooth 
as  if  his  tongue  were  buttered.  * '  My  name  is  Gerrit  Van 
Sweringen,"  he  said,  "and  I  come  from  Troublesome 
Comer. ' ' 

The  burgher  sprang  back  until  he  cracked  his  head 
against  the  oaken  wainscot.  "Mercy  upon  my  soul !"  he 
gasped.    "The  Man  from  Troublesome  Comer!" 

His  comrade  tumbled  off  the  bench  and  crept  under  the 
table.  "Ach,"  said  he,  "what  will  mine  vrouw  Katrinka 
say  to  this?  I  will  never  stay  out  so  late  again,  though 
it  rain  me  plows  and  pitchforks." 

The  young  man  arose  from  his  table  with  the  cream- 
cheese  in  one  hand.  "Thou  poor,  miserable  lump,"  he 
said.  "Thou  makest  me  ashamed  that  we  have  eaten 
under  one  roof ! ' '  He  towered  above  the  braggart,  who 
chattered  against  the  wainscot  with  a  face  like  a  pale- 
gray  pasty.  "When  thou  dost  boast  in  future,"— 
and  the  young  man  was  suddenly  stern, — "explode  thy 
boasts  in  a  cistern-hole  where  none  can  overhear  thee. 
It  will  magnify  the  sound  of  thy  voice  until  it  matcheth 
thy  self-conceit.     But  as  for  now,"  he  added,  with  a 


At  Wolfert  Webber's  Tavern  125 

laugh  like  the  laugh  of  a  madcap  school-boy,  * '  thou  shalt 
be  crowned  with  a  cream-cheese  crown  and  royally 
kinged  with  a  goodly  butter-pot." 

As  he  spoke  he  suddenly  raised  his  hands,  and,  with  a 
swashing  blow,  crushed  the  soft,  paste-like  cheese  upon 
the  boaster's  head,  and  catching  up  the  butter-crock,  he 
clapped  it  upon  the  fellow's  pate  with  a  squash  like  a 
bursting  pumpkin. 

"Now  get  thee  home,  thou  toadstool,"  he  said,  "before 
the  butter  melteth  and  drowns  what  little  wit  thou  hast. 
Come  out,"  he  said  to  the  man  under  the  table;  "thy 
friend  is  playing  at  blind  man,  and  needeth  a  dog  to  lead 
him." 

"Mynheer  Gerrit  Van  Sweringen,"  cried  a  bold,  clear 
voice  behind  him,  "Mynheer  Van  Sweringen,  what  mis- 
chief make  ye  here?" 

"I  have  just  been  baiting  a  beaver-trap,"  said  Van 
Sweringen,  coolly;  but  he  turned  as  he  spoke,  with  a 
sudden  look  of  gravity,  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the  hilt 
of  his  sword. 

*  *  A  truce  to  that,  I  cry  you ! ' '  said  the  bold,  clear  voice, 
and  Captain  Martin  Kregier  strode  in  through  the  tavern 
door.  * '  A  truce  to  that,  mynheer !  Draw  not  that  long- 
tailed  spit  of  thine.  I  have  sought  thee  far  and  wide 
to-night,  and  there  is  no  time  for  folly. ' ' 

The  dancing  light  in  Van  Sweringen 's  eyes  went  out 
like  a  spark  into  the  darkness ;  the  old  severity  squared 
his  black  brows,  and  he  was  changed  in  the  instant,  all 
his  gaiety  put  away.     "Hither,"  he  said  to  Van  der 


126  Barnaby  Lee 

Hoogh ;  "take  thy  friend  home.  When  wolves  are  out  it 
is  high  time  for  foxes  to  hunt  their  holes.  What  wouldst 
thou  of  me?"  he  asked,  turning  to  Captain  Kregier. 
His  lips  were  set;  his  eyes  grim;  his  whole  aspect  was 
forbidding. 

"Mynheer,  is  my  word  good  with  thee?"  asked  the 
blunt  old  soldier,  simply. 

"It  is, "  replied  Van  Sweringen. 

* '  Then  follow  me.  There  is  a  place  which  needeth  thee 
more  than  Wolfert  Webber's  tavern  does." 

Van  Sweringen  looked  at  him  narrowly,  with  bitter 
suspicion  in  his  eye. 

'  *  Upon  my  word  of  honor, ' '  said  Captain  Kregier,  fac- 
ing him  squarely,  "there  is  no  trap.  Is  that  enough 
security  ? ' ' 

"It  is  more  than  enough,"  replied  Van  Sweringen, 
frankly.  Dropping  his  sword  into  its  sheath  with  a 
clank,  he  took  up  his  dripping  hat  from  the  table.  ' '  Af- 
ter you,  mynheer,"  he  said,  and  bowed  with  a  courtly 
gesture.  They  passed  through  the  doorway  into  the 
night. 


CHAPTER  XV 


FOR   THE   COLONY 


DOWN  through  the  dripping  town  came  the  two 
men,  Kregier  and  Van  Sweringen.  One  bleared, 
bright  window  in  the  fort  sent  its  bar  of  yellow  light 
across  the  darkness. 

"There,  mynheer,"  said  Kregier,  "the  Director-Gen- 
eral is  awaiting  thee.  Enter.  I  wish  thee  better  nights 
than  this."  So  saying,  he  turned  upon  his  heel,  and 
left  the  thus  unheralded  guest  standing  alone  upon  the 
threshold. 

Grasping  the  latch  with  his  bold,  strong  hand.  Van 
Sweringen  opened  the  door. 

To  the  boy  who  lay  in  the  press-bed  it  had  all  seemed 
a  feverish  dream:  the  rain  on  the  roof,  the  glare  of  the 
ragged  lightning,  the  candles  on  the  table,  dizzily  sway- 
ing in  the  drafts,  and  the  fierce,  dark  face  of  the  Direc- 
tor-General blotting  out  all  the  rest.  But  that  which 
followed  was  stranger  than  all  that  had  gone  before. 
The  room  was  so  still  that  he  thought  they  must  surely 
hear  the  beating  of  his  heart.  He  dared  not  touch  the 
curtains;  he  scarcely  dared  to  move.    With  his  face  in 

127 


12  8  Barnaby  Lee 

the  shadow  and  his  breast  upon  the  pillow,  he  peered 
through  the  crevice  of  the  shutter. 

The  candles  were  flaring  in  the  draft.  Stuyvesant 
sprang  to  his  feet.  For  a  moment  the  two  men  stood 
and  stared  with  flashing  eyes  at  each  other.  Then  the 
Director-General  spoke. 

"Mynheer  Gerrit  Van  Sweringen,"  he  said,  bowing 
slightly  and  haughtily,  "Member  of  the  South  River 
Colony  Council,  and  Sheriff  of  New  Amstel." 

The  young  man  answered  instantly :  ' '  Mynheer  Peter 
Stuyvesant,  your  Excellency,  Director  for  the  High  and 
Mighty  West  India  Trading  Company,  Governor  of  New 
Netherland  and  of  the  Islands  of  the  Sea,  the  Esteemed, 
the  Worthy,  the  Prudent,  also  the  Most  Severe.^' 

Then  he  swept  a  low  and  courtly  bow,  with  his  plumed 
hat  dripping  in  his  hand ;  and  standing  in  the  open  door 
with  his  arms  folded  across  his  breast,  the  night  wind 
blowing  his  long  black  hair  about  his  face,  "Your  Ex- 
cellency," he  said,  "ye  have  sent  for  me.  I  greatly  won- 
der why." 

"Because  I  have  a  need  of  thee,"  answered  Stuyvesant, 
**not,  you  may  believe,  because  it  hath  pleased  me." 

Then  his  throat  choked  up,  and  he  stood  speechless. 
Nothing  so  roused  his  anger  as  defiance,  and  Van  Swer- 
ingen's  fearless  attitude  was  wormwood  to  his  soul;  he 
dared  not  trust  his  voice. 

"Your  need  doth  not  appear  to  have  dropped  sweet 
oil  and  honey  on  your  tongue,"  said  the  young  man, 
smiling. 


For  the  Colony  129 


The  Governor  raised  his  arm  with  a  gesture  of  com- 
mand. "Mynheer,  provoke  me  no  more!"  he  said.  "I 
have  had  provocation  enough  from  thee.  I  have  great 
need  of  tranquil  speech ;  but  how  can  I  be  tranquil  if  thou 
dost  irritate  me?  Remember  mine  office,  and  honor  it. 
I  have  a  need  of  speech  with  thee.  Come  in  and  close  the 
door.  The  rain  doth  fall  around  this  house  like  all  the 
plagues  of  Egypt.  Come  in,  I  say,  and  close  the  door; 
and,  I  pray  thee,  be  seated." 

Van  Sweringen  entered,  and  seated  himself  with  his 
sword  across  his  knees.  Stuyvesant,  leaning  upon  the 
table,  looked  at  him  silently  for  a  moment;  then,  ** Myn- 
heer, I  will  tell  thee  why  I  sent  for  thee  to-night,"  he 
said.  "It  was  not  from  choice,— thou  mayest  be  sure  of 
that,— but  from  necessity." 

With  that  he  limped  suddenly  to  the  door  and  shot  the 
double  bolts,  and,  coming  back,  turned  down  the  latch 
of  the  inner  portal.  Then,  going  to  a  cupboard  in  the 
comer  of  the  room,  he  took  out  of  it  a  parchment  roll 
about  a  cloth-yard  long.  Turning,  he  allowed  it  to  unroll. 
It  was  a  map  laid  off  in  red  and  green  and  blue  by  the 
hand  of  some  skilful  draftsman. 

There  were  tall  ships  sailing  the  sea,  and  towers  and 
palaces  of  savage  kings  on  the  borders  of  undiscovered 
oceans;  there  were  wild  beasts  in  the  forests,  and  trees 
along  the  shore;  wonderful  mountains  filled  all  the  mar- 
gin, and  in  the  corner  a  great  face  blew  the  wind  that 
filled  the  vessels'  sails;  at  the  farthest  north  was  the  flag 
of  France,  to  north  and  south  the  flag  of  England, 


130  Barnaby  Lee 

and  in  the  middle,  upon  a  pole,  was  the  flag  of  Holland, 
bravely  flapping,  orange  and  white  and  blue. 

Stuyvesant  spread  the  map  upon  the  table.  "See," 
he  said,  "it  is  an  excellent  map.  Here  stand  we,  in  New 
Amsterdam,  on  Manhattan  Island.  Here  is  the  river, 
here  the  sea,  and  here  is  the  shore  of  the  mainland.  Our 
limits  run  from  here  to  here;  this  red  line  circumscribes 
them.  The  English  colonies  hem  us  in  upon  both  north 
and  south.  Mynheer,"  he  asked,  facing  about,  "dost 
love  an  Englishman  ? ' ' 

Van  Sweringen  lifted  his  brows.  "I  know  some  Eng- 
lishmen, your  Excellency,  whom  I  think  I  do  not  hate." 

"Well,"  said  Stuyvesant,  bitterly,  "I  will  give  thee 
ample  cause  to  hate  them.  They  mean  to  take  these  lands 
from  us  before  the  year  is  out.  Dost  smile?  Let  this 
abate  thy  smiling. ' '    He  laid  an  open  letter  on  the  table. 

Van  Sweringen 's  countenance  changed  as  he  read. 

"Your  Excellency,"  he  said,  "they  dare  not;  this  thing 
is  impossible ! ' ' 

"Impossible?"  said  Stuyvesant,  "Call  no  deed  im- 
possible until  an  Englishman  hath  tried  it  and  failed  to 
make  it  good." 

' '  But  there  is  peace ! " 

*  *  Peace  ?  Save  the  mark !  Go,  make  thy  breakfast  on 
it ;  it  will  not  keep  until  evening  cometh. ' ' 

Van  Sweringen  struck  the  table  a  blow  that  made  the 
sand-box  dance. 

' '  How  can  ye  thwart  this  hideous  piece  of  treachery  ? '  * 
he  cried. 


For  the  Colony  131 


"By  dealing  them  craft  for  craft,  mynheer,  and  play- 
ing them  card  for  card.  That  is  the  only  chance  that  is 
left  us ;  yet  the  right  is  on  our  side. ' ' 

"I  would  'right'  them  with  a  vengeance,"  cried  Van 
Sweringen.  ' '  I  would  wage  them  a  war  that  would  make 
their  very  door-sills  gather  moss. ' ' 

"With  a  box  of  broken  tenpins?"  demanded  Stuy- 
vesant.  "How  can  I  wage  war,  mynheer?  I  have  but 
thirty  men,  nothing  with  which  to  arm  them,  no  powder 
to  shoot  my  cannon.  Why,  mynheer,  I  have  not  means 
to  make  even  a  show  of  force.  Ach!  what  do  they  care 
for  us,  across  that  briny  sea?  We  are  no  right  state- 
colony;  we  are  only  a  company's  trading-post,  where 
private  means  are  fortunate,  but  where  the  company 
itself  hath  sunk  its  whole  investment.  What  do  they  care 
for  us,  then?  We  do  not  profit  them.  They  will  snap 
their  fingers  and  let  us  go  like  a  played-out  tune." 

'  *  Are  we,  then,  so  poor  a  thing  ? ' '  exclaimed  Van  Swer- 
ingen. "Ach,  how  they  lied  to  me  who  won  me  to  enter 
upon  this  venture ! " 

"Nay,"  said  Stuyvesant,  "we  are  rich  in  possibility. 
But  Guinea  and  the  Indies  have  set  these  traders  mad; 
they  can  dream  of  nothing  but  the  Philippines  and  the 
East ;  the  smell  of  spice  and  nutmegs  seems  to  have  stolen 
away  their  reason.  Unless  we  can  stand  for  ourselves, 
and  thwart  our  enemies  alone,  we  shall  all  be  turned  out 
of  house  and  home,  like  beggars  in  the  street. ' ' 

"When  they  have  turned  me  out  of  my  home  they 
•hall  have  paid  me  a  price  for  it ! "  said  Van  Sweringen. 


132  Barnaby  Lee 

' '  I  have  ventured  all  that  I  have  myself,  and  all  that  my 
brothers  have ;  and  I  will  stand  to  it  while  the  breath  of 
life  remaineth  in  my  body." 

"Then  serve  me,  and  we  will  stand  together!"  cried 
Stuyvesant,  with  sudden  passion  in  his  voice.  "There 
are  times  when  two  men,  if  they  will  stand  together,  may 
make  a  perilous  vantage  good  against  a  thousand." 

But  Van  Sweringen,  scowling,  shook  his  head  and 
turned  his  face  away. 

* '  I  would  rather  stand  alone.    I  love  thee  not, ' '  said  he. 

"This  for  thy  love !"  said  Stuyvesant,  and  snapped  his 
fingers.  "Dost  think  that  I  have  sent  for  thee  because 
I  felt  affectionate?  Were  I  to  say  I  like  thee,  it  were  a 
lie.  I  like  thee  not,  nor  thy  mad  ways.  But  more  than 
I  dislike  thee,  I  have  a  need  of  thee.  Not  for  myself;  I 
need  thee  not,  and  a  murrain  on  the  fancy !  I  am  not  ask- 
ing for  myself,  but  for  the  colony.  New  Netherland 
hath  need  of  thee :  I  am  only  her  voice. ' ' 

Van  Sweringen  looked  at  him  silently,  while  a  creeping 
tide  of  blood  went  reddening  up  his  cheek.  Then,  draw- 
ing his  sword  with  a  ring  of  its  blade,  he  laid  it  on  the 
table.  *  *  There, ' '  he  said  in  his  quick,  sharp  voice, ' '  is  my 
answer  to  the  colony.  I  will  serve  her  while  I  have  a 
drop  of  blood  in  my  veins.  But  as  for  thee—"  He 
paused,  and  then  his  voice  resumed  its  ancient  courtly 
suavity:  "What  is  it,  your  Excellency,  that  ye  would 
have  me  do ?    Speak  quick,  for  the  hour  is  growing  late." 


CHAPTER  XVI 


WANTED:    A   REASON 


I  WOULD  have  thee  go  on  an  embassy  to  Maryland," 
replied  the  Director-General.  * '  Lord  Baltimore  hath 
renewed  his  claim  to  our  southern  borderlgmd,  and 
threatens  an  invasion  if  his  warrant  be  denied.  I  believe 
we  can  prove  his  title  void.  But  unless  we  hold  him  off 
until  his  title  is  proved  void,  his  troops  march.  New  Am- 
stel  falls,  and  the  South  River  country  is  lost.  Attend  me 
on  the  map,  that  thou  mayest  follow  my  meaning,  and  I 
will  explain  to  thee  the  argument  by  which  I  hope  to 
bafifle  him." 

Straightening  out  the  map,  which  was  curled  with  long 
rolling,  he  laid  his  pistols  on  it  to  keep  it  spread,  and 
stood  for  a  moment  silently  arranging  the  details  of  his 
argument. 

The  cold  meat  stood  on  the  table,  with  the  flagon  of 
wine  beside  it ;  the  shadows  wandered  along  the  walls,  and 
wavered  among  the  roof -beams;  there  was  no  sound  but 
the  faintly  heard  drip-dripping  of  the  rain.  The  cabin- 
boy  in  the  press-bed  drew  a  long,  tired  breath. 

Van  Sweringen  lifted  his  head.  "Your  Excellency, 
what  was  that?" 

**What  was  what?"  asked  Stuyvesant. 
133 


134  Barnaby  Lee 

"I  thought  I  heard  somebody  breathe." 

The  Director-General  looked  about.  **Nay,  I  think 
that  I  must  have  sighed, ' '  he  said,  ' '  or  else  that  thou  art 
mistaken.  There  is  no  one  stirring  about  the  house  ex- 
cepting our  two  selves.  I  will  try  the  doors.  See ;  there 
is  naught.    Our  doubts  make  rabbits  of  us. " 

Van  Sweringen  looked  at  him  sharply.  "Your  Excel- 
lency, I  neither  doubt  nor  fear,"  he  said.  "I  await  the 
event;  and  that  shall  befall  as  God  appointeth  it." 

"No  doubt,"  rejoined  the  Director-General.  "Yet 
still,  mynheer,  speak  English.  God  hath  not  appointed 
that  keyholes  should  be  deaf." 

How  long  they  sat  conversing,  there  was  no  way  of 
telling.  The  sand  in  the  hour-glass  ran  out ;  yet  still  they 
leaned  above  the  map,  counseling  earnestly.  One  by  one 
the  candles  went  out  with  a  little  gasp  of  flame  until  but 
two  stood  burning,  and  these  two  spent  to  the  socket ;  the 
fire  was  dead,  and  the  ashes  lay  in  a  mound  on  the  hearth. 
Far  away  across  the  town  a  watchman  raised  his  lonely 
shout ;  aroused  by  his  melancholy  notes,  a  drowsy  watch- 
dog howled. 

The  Director-General  raised  his  head,  and  pushed 
away  the  map. 

' '  Hast  followed  me,  mynheer  ? "  he  asked. 

"Like  a  spaniel  at  thine  heels,"  replied  Van  Swer- 
ingen. 

' '  Have  I  made  myself  plain  ? ' ' 

"As  a  pike-staff.  It  is  a  shrewd  argument.  We  shall 
turn  them  as  sure  as  the  river  is  turned  by  the  tide." 


Wanted:  A  Reason  135 

But  Stuyvesant  shook  his  head  wearily.  "Be  not  so 
fast,  mynheer.  We  have  just  come  to  the  stieking-point 
of  all  the  argument." 

He  began  to  roll  up  the  papers  that  were  scattered  on 
the  table. 

"This  is  the  sticking-point,  mynheer."  His  face  was 
troubled,  and  his  voice  became  more  earnest  than  before. 
"We  dare  not  seem  to  come  into  Maryland  prepared  to 
treat  upon  matters  of  state;  for  if  we  do  they  will  de- 
mand to  see  the  patent  by  which  we  hold  our  lands. 
That  is  where  our  cause  will  fail,  for  we  have  no  patent 
to  show  them.  I  have  begged  for  a  patent  a  hundred 
times ;  I  might  as  well  have  begged  for  the  moon.  We  are 
only  a  trading  post,  and  may  not  have  a  patent.  So,  myn- 
heer, having  nothing  to  back  us  or  on  which  to  stand  our 
ground,  we  dare  not  seem  to  come  prepared  to  treat  upon 
boundaries.  We  must  find  some  other  pretext  for  our 
embassy,  some  plausible  excuse  to  cover  our  real  design, 
a  reasonable  artifice  through  which  they  may  not  discern 
our  purpose.  On  my  soul,  mynheer,  I  do  not  know  what 
reason  we  can  offer.  The  troubles  which  compass  me 
about  have  driven  away  my  reasons.  This  is  why  I  sent 
for  thee ;  I  need  a  man  who  can  reason.  And  now,  Myn- 
heer Van  Sweringen,  what  reason  can  we  offer  1 ' ' 

Van  Sweringen  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  floor.  "A 
reason  at  demand?"  he  said.  "Nay,  your  Excellency, 
I  know  none.  Our  treaties  with  the  savages  stand;  the 
red  tribes  are  at  peace;  the  commission  hath  settled  the 
question  upon  the  ships  that  were  seized  on  false  charges. 


136  Barnaby  Lee 

Nay,  your  Excellency,  I  can  think  of  no  reason. ' '  Then 
he  looked  up  stoutly.  ''But  our  need  will  find  us  a 
reason. ' ' 

' '  Need  hath  no  reason  in  her, ' '  said  Stuy vesant,  gloom- 

iiy. 

"Then  our  right  will  prove  our  reason,"  the  young 
man  answered  bravely. 

The  Director-General  shook  his  head.  "I  trust  thou 
mayest  find  it  so. ' ' 

"Trust,  your  Excellency?  Nay;  I  stand  assured  of 
it."  And  Van  Sweringen  threw  his  head  back  with  a 
look  of  bold  reliance. 

"Then  go,  mynheer,"  said  Stuy  vesant,  "and  Provi- 
dence go  with  thee,  I  leave  the  reason  and  the  rest  to 
thee.  Yet  while  thou  art  gone  I  shall  not  sit  here  as  if  I 
were  sick  with  a  palsy.  An  English  seafaring  man  hath 
been  taken  in  the  marshes.  They  say  that  he  is  a  pica- 
roon. The  name  matters  little.  These  rascals  are  but  the 
shadow  of  greater  rogues  behind  them.  I  will  make  an 
example  of  this  one  as  a  warning  to  the  rest.  Picaroon 
or  pirate,  I  declare  I  care  not  which,  he  hath  broken  the 
laws  of  New  Netherland,  and  I  '11  hang  him. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  no,  no,  no ! "  A  wild  cry  rang  through  the  room. 
Instantly  after  it  followed  the  sound  of  a  fall  in  the  cor- 
ner beyond  the  chimney. 

' '  We  are  betrayed ! ' '  cried  Van  Sweringen.  '  *  There  is 
a  spy!" 

Springing  to  his  feet,  he  caught  up  his  sword,  and  ran 
across  the  room.    Catching  up  a  pistol  and  a  candle  from 


Wanted:  A  Reason  137 

the  table,  Stuyvesant  followed  as  fast  as  he  could  hobble. 
On  the  floor  below  the  press-bed  lay  a  tumbled  heap  of 
white  that  cried  out  shrilly,  "No,  no,  no!"  and  shrank 
against  the  wainscot. 

Stuyvesant  leveled  his  pistol.  Van  Sweringen  short- 
ened his  rapier,  crying,  ' '  Out,  thou  felon,  cowardly  spy ! 
Out!" 

Struggling  in  the  covers,  Barnaby  Lee  crept  out. 

He  had  lain  in  the  press-bed  awake,  how  long  he  did  not 
know,  but  until  so  oppressed  from  lack  of  sleep  that  he 
could  not  watch  any  more.  Now  and  then  he  had  dozed 
from  utter  weariness;  but  the  men's  harsh  voices  beat 
upon  his  ears,  and  he  could  not  fall  asleep.  What  had 
wrung  them  so  together  was  more  than  he  could  guess, 
for  their  Dutch  to  him  was  Hebrew ;  in  his  half-sleep  it 
sounded  like  ravens  croaking.  Then  a  quiet  came  over 
their  voices  as  they  counseled  across  the  map.  Lulled  by 
the  resonant  murmur,  he  slept.  How  long  he  slept  he 
could  not  tell.  He  awoke  with  a  sense  of  oppression. 
The  lights  had  grown  dim ;  the  wall  was  cold ;  he  was  all 
adaze.  He  wondered;  then,  all  at  once,  aroused  by  a 
strange  sound  in  the  room,  he  turned  in  the  bed.  The  two 
men  were  speaking  English.  It  was  a  strange,  harsh- 
throated  sound ;  but  what  had  that  to  do  with  him,  that 
he  should  be  shivering  so? — for  his  arm  shook  as  he 
leaned  on  it.  It  was  the  Director-General  speaking: 
"An  English  seafaring  man  hath  been  taken  in  the 
'marshes.  They  say  that  he  is  a  picaroon."  An  Eng- 
lishman 1  a  picaroon  ?    It  was  he  himself,  of  whom  they 


138  Barnaby  Lee 

were  speaking!  "I  will  make  an  example  of  this  one 
as  a  warning  to  the  rest, ' '  said  the  Governor.  ' '  Picaroon 
or  pirate,  I  declare  I  care  not  which,  he  hath  broken  the 
laws  of  New  Netherland,  and  I  '11  hang  him. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  no,  no,  no ! "  cried  Barnaby.  He  made  a  spring 
from  the  bed ;  but  the  bedclothes  were  tangled  about  him. 
He  fell  on  his  face  on  the  floor,  and  the  mattress,  flying 
after  him,  covered  him  completely. 

He  heard  the  thump  of  running  feet,  and  a  voice  cry- 
ing, * '  Out,  thou  spy ! ' '  Bewildered  by  his  fall,  he  crept 
from  under  the  mattress  and,  blinded  by  the  sudden  light, 
looked  up. 

With  the  candle  held  over  his  head,  the  Director- 
General  towered  above  him,  pistol  in  hand.  The  candle- 
light gleamed  along  Van  Sweringen's  rapier. 

' '  Quick ! ' '  cried  Van  Sweringen.  ' '  Who  art  thou, 
kerel?" 

"Speak!"  cried  Stuyvesant.     "Quick!" 

"Oh,  masters,  I  be  the  picaroon!"  gasped  Barnaby. 

Van  Sweringen  stared  at  him.  "Light  of  my  soul!" 
said  he.  Then  suddenly  thrusting  the  point  of  his  rapier 
into  the  floor,  "The  picaroon?  God  bless  me!"  he  cried, 
and  sinking  into  a  chair  behind  him,  he  broke  into  a  peal 
of  laughter. 

The  Director-General  stared  at  him ;  then  he  stared  at 
Barnaby.  His  harsh  face  worked,  and  he  tried  to  scowl, 
but  he  let  the  muzzle  of  his  pistol  drop ;  then  he,  too,  sank 
into  a  chair,  and  roared  with  laughter  for  sheer  relief. 


** '  (JUICK  ! '  CBIBD  VAN  SWBBINGBN.      'WHO  ABT  THOU  ?  ' " 


Wanted:  A  Reason  139 

And  there  in  the  light  of  the  dying  candles,  long  past 
the  midnight  hour,  sat  the  two  dark,  fierce-eyed  men,  one 
in  his  suit  of  somber  velvet,  the  other  in  laurel-green, 
sword  in  hand  and  pistol-butts  gleaming,  laughing  to- 
gether; while  Bamaby,  his  thin  arms  bare  to  the  elbow, 
his  light  shirt  parted  across  his  breast,  and  his  tangled 
hair  hanging  across  his  cheek,  lay  crouching  against  the 
wainscot,  bewildered  and  terrified. 

At  last  the  Director-General  laid  down  his  pistol,  and 
limping  slowly  across  the  room,  stood  with  his  stalwart 
arms  akimbo,  staring  at  Bamaby.  ' '  A  pirate  1  thou  ?  and 
a  picaroon?"  said  he.  Stooping,  he  took  the  boy  by  the 
arms,  and  lifted  him,  looking  at  him.  As  he  looked  a  cu- 
rious wonder  came  into  his  deliberate  gaze,  for  the  boy 
was  slender,  exceedingly  fair,  with  a  skin  like  a  woman's, 
and  about  his  face  was  a  fine-chiseled  look  out  of  the  com- 
mon run. 

Bamaby  looked  pleadingly  up  at  him.  "You  will  not 
hang  me,  master ! "  he  said.    ' '  Ye  truly  cannot  mean  it ! " 

Stuyvesant's  swarthy  cheek  flushed,  and  his  mouth 
grew  bitter. 

"What  dost  take  us  for?"  he  asked.  "The  Spanish 
Inquisition?  Nay ;  we  are  not  yet  fallen  so  low  as  to  hang 
half-grown  children.  But  who  art  thou,  boy?  and  what 
art  doing  here  in  the  press-bed  in  my  wall  ?" 

Bamaby  drew  his  feet  out  of  the  covers,  and  stood  up, 
dizzily.  "I  was  servant  to  Captain  John  King,"  he  re- 
plied, "and  cabin-boy  on  the  Ragged  Staff."   That  was 


140  Barnaby  Lee 


all  he  said.  He  got  no  further,  but  stopped  with  a  little 
gasp,  for  Mynheer  Van  Sweringen  sprang  to  his  feet  with 
a  sudden  startled  exclamation,  and  taking  two  steps  along 
the  floor  as  if  he  were  going  to  dance,  turned  to  the  Direc- 
tor-General, crying: 

' '  Eureka !    I  have  found  it  1 " 


CHAPTER  XVII 


VAN   SWERINGEN  S   PRETEXT 


EUREKA!"  cried  Van  Sweringen,  dancing  along  the 
floor. 

The  Director-General  stared  at  him.  He  thought  the 
man  losing  his  senses.  But  Van  Sweringen  raised  his 
hands  aloft  with  a  gesture  of  exaltation,  crying,  "Eu- 
reka !  The  right  shall  yet  prevail !  The  God  of  Battles 
is  with  us!" 

* '  Ay,  doubtless, ' '  replied  Stuyvesant,  staring.  * '  Doubt- 
less ;  but  where  hath  he  showed  thee  a  sign  ? ' ' 

' '  There ! ' '  cried  Van  Sweringen,  pointing  at  Barnaby. 

Stuyvesant,  turning,  looked  at  the  boy ;  then  he  looked 
back  at  Van  Sweringen.  "What  hath  taken  thy  wits?" 
he  said,  and  his  face  was  sorely  perplexed. 

"What?"  exclaimed  Van  Sweringen.  "Dost  not  see 
my  idea?"  His  face  was  all  alight.  "Why,  your  Ex- 
cellency, what  saith  the  law?  'If  any  hide  or  harbor 
another's  serving-man,  without  the  master's  acquiescence, 
or  detain  the  same  in  any  wise,  or  carry  him  away,  or  suf- 
fer him  to  lurk  about,  it  is  a  felony.  And  if  any  ap- 
prentice from  the  English  colonies  flieth  from  them  into 
New  Netherland,  the  authorities  shall  take  him  at  their 
gates,  and  shall  send  him  back  to  the  place  whence  he 

141 


142  Barnaby  Lee 

hath  fled,  by  the  first  vessel  sailing  thither  from  their 
ports. '  There ! "  he  said,  his  black  eyes  dancing,  * '  Dost 
catch  my  inspiration?" 

Stuyvesant  shook  his  head.    "No,  mynheer,  I  do  not," 

" 'T  is  plain  as  a  mile-post,"  said  Van  Sweringen. 
"Ye  asked  me  for  some  pretext  for  an  embassy,  an  excuse 
with  which  to  cover  our  real  aim.  Here  is  your  pretext 
dropped  from  the  clouds.  This  boy,  who  hath  blown  into 
your  doors  upon  the  wind,  is  a  cabin-boy,  a  fugitive,  a 
mariner's  apprentice.  The  vessel  from  which  he  fled 
claimed  port  in  Maryland,  There  is  sufficient  reason  for 
all  the  missions  ye  may  wish  to  send  to  Lord  Baltimore's 
court."  He  paused  a  moment  to  wipe  his  brow.  "We 
keep  the  law  by  returning  this  boy  to  his  master ;  I  go  to 
Maryland  to  escort  him.  What  else  I  do  there  is  naught 
to  the  point.    Have  I  made  it  sufficiently  plain  ? ' ' 

A  great  solemnity  rested  upon  the  Director-General's 
face,  "It  is  indeed  a  sign,"  he  said.  "We  are  not  yet 
forsaken.  When  a  man's  friends  fail  him  utterly,  God 
sendeth  him  an  enemy  to  serve  him.  He  first  sent  thee 
to  me,  mynheer;  and  now,  to  us,  this  boy.  The  Lord  is 
a  stronghold  in  which  we  shall  prevail!"  So  saying,  he 
bowed  his  head  as  if  in  silent  prayer. 

But  the  cabin-boy  gave  a  heartbroken  cry:  "Are  ye 
going  to  send  me  back?  Oh,  masters,  ye  cannot  mean 
it ;  ye  truly  cannot  mean  it ! " 

"Tut,  tut!"  said  the  Director-General,  with  a  frown. 
"Do  not  make  such  a  to-do,  boy;  I  have  had  a  surfeit  of 
to-do.    I  should  like  a  little  peace. ' ' 


Van  Sweringen's  Pretext      143 

"But  ye  cannot  mean  to  send  me  back!"  cried  Bar- 
naby.  "Oh,  master,  I  would  rather  be  hanged  than  go 
back  to  the  Bagged  Staff.  Do  not  send  me  back  to  John 
King!  I  ha'  done  no  crime,  nor  broken  no  law;  I  ha* 
never  wronged  any  man.  Ye  ha'  no  right  to  send  me 
back  to  such  horrid  servitude.  Indeed  and  indeed,  I 
would  rather  be  hanged  than  go  back  to  the  Ragged 
Staff." 

"Tut,  tut!"  said  Stuyvesant,  harshly.  "Thou  dost 
not  know  of  what  thou  art  talking.  Dost  think  we  all 
have  found  the  world  to  our  fancy  ?  Behush  thy  plaint, 
thou  foolish  knave.  Get  into  bed  and  cease  thy 
clamor. ' ' 

But  Barnaby  would  not  stop  his  clamor.  "Must  ye 
take  me  back  ? "  he  cried  to  Mynheer  Van  Sweringen. 

Van  Sweringen  looked  uncomfortable. 

*  *  There  is  nothing  else  we  can  do, ' '  he  said.  * '  We  have 
no  choice  in  the  matter.  Thou  art  a  runaway,  and  we 
have  given  our  word  to  thy  people,  the  English,  to  keep 
the  apprentice  laws  to  the  letter. ' ' 

' '  But,  master,  I  am  no  apprentice, ' '  said  Barnaby,  ear- 
nestly. * '  My  father  was  a  gentleman,  and  a  captain  with 
the  king.  His  name  was  Lee,  sir,  Harry  Lee  of  Quar- 
Tendon,  in  Bucks ;  but  he  is  dead,  and  I  be  all  that  is  left. 
Master,  the  world  is  a  lonely  place  when  ye  be  all  that 
is  left!" 

"Ach,  prut!"  said  Van  Sweringen.  Turning  away 
with  a  troubled  look,  he  paced  the  sanded  floor.  Stuy- 
vesant's  face  flushed,  and  he  gnawed  his  under  lip;  he 


144  Barnaby  Lee 

was  a  just  and  merciful  man,  although  a  most  severe  one, 
and  the  boy 's  pleading  touched  his  heart. 

Barnaby  saw  the  look  on  his  face,  and,  believing  there 
might  still  be  hope,  hurried  on  eagerly : 

"I  ha'  run  this  coast  four  years,  from  Sagadahoc  to 
Barbados,  and  never  once  ha'  set  foot  ashore  until  this 
little  while  ago.  One  gets  sick  for  shore !  The  sea  is  a 
horrible  place.  Ye  cannot  know  the  misery  of  it  unless 
ye  ha'  been  a  sailor:  tempests,  sickness,  cruelty,  shame, 
and  bloody  crimes.  Masters,  the  Ragged  Staff  is  a  pen 
of  things  which  I  am  sick  to  think  on ;  I  beg  you  send  me 
not  back  to  her  if  ye  possess  the  shadow  of  mercy  or  a 
touch  of  kindness  in  your  hearts !  Leave  me  stay  ashore ! 
I  be  none  so  bad  a  boy,  and  I  will  serve  ye  truly,  if  only 
ye  will  not  send  me  back.  I  can  shoot  a  gun,  and  fence 
with  sword  and  dagger;  I  can  read  a  book  and  ride  a 
horse.  And  I  be  a  right  fair  sailor;  I  can  hand,  reef, 
steer,  and  row  in  proportion  to  my  strength.  I  can  cook 
a  meal  fairly  and  serve  it.  And  I  will  serve  ye  for- 
ever until  I  die  if  only  ye  will  not  send  me  back.  Ye  can- 
not send  me  back ! ' ' 

Stuyvesant  looked  at  Van  Sweringen,  but  the  latter 
shook  his  head. 

*  *  Look  not  at  me,  your  Excellency, ' '  he  said.  ' '  There 
is  my  plan.  I  have  offered  it.  I  wash  my  hands  of  the 
matter. ' ' 

' '  But,  mynheer—  ' ' 

Van  Sweringen  turned  away. 

"If  ye  love  me,"  said  Stuyvesant,  earnestly. 


Van  Sweringen's  Pretext      145 

'  *  I  have  told  you  I  do  not  love  you.  This  matter  rests 
with  you.  I  have  no  authority  here;  the  question  is 
yours  to  decide.  I  have  shown  you  a  way  from  your 
quandary. ' ' 

Stuyvesant  bit  his  lip. 

"And  put  me  into  another,"  he  said.  **But  our  need 
is  past  all  question,  and  the  need  of  the  many  must  pre- 
vail; I  have  nothing  else  to  serve  the  turn.  Our  rights 
may  seem  this  lad's  wrong,  and  unrighteous  altogether, 
but  the  single  right  must  be  sacrificed  to  the  greater  ne- 
cessities of  many.    He  must  make  the  best  of  it." 

There  was  no  more  use  for  pleading.  With  one  look 
into  the  stern,  set  face,  Barnaby  turned  away,  and  throw- 
ing himself  down  at  full  length  on  the  mattress,  burst 
into  a  storm  of  grief. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


IN   THE   HANDS   OF   DESTINY 


POOR  Barnaby !  It  seemed  to  be  more  than  he  could 
bear,  and  too  cruel  to  be  true,  that  after  four  years 
of  bitter  longing  he  had  at  last  gained  the  shore,  at  immi- 
nent peril  of  his  life,  only  to  be  sent  back  again  to  all 
from  which  he  had  sought  to  escape.  There  was  no  one 
to  befriend  him.  All  that  seemed  left  for  him  in  life  was 
simply  to  endure.  He  was  only  a  boy.  When  that 
was  said  the  thing  was  as  good  as  ended.  Some  boys, 
perhaps,  may  equal  men,  or,  given  the  chance,  may 
even  outdo  them;  but,  no  matter  how  brave  or  how 
strong  he  may  be,  there  are  things  in  the  world  which 
a  boy  cannot  do.  He  may  overthrow  empires,  wreck 
armies,  and  dethrone  kings;  but  he  cannot  stay  the 
hand  of  fate,  nor  change  the  course  of  his  own  des- 
tiny. A  destiny  greater  than  his  desire  or  knowledge 
was  carrying  Barnaby  Lee,  and  his  struggle  against 
it  was  unavailing ;  the  end  remained  the  same.  He  could 
not  see  before  him.  Who  is  there  that  can  ?  It  is  as  well ;. 
for  if  men  could  see  the  dangers  that  wait  their  coming, 
few  would  go  forth  to  meet  their  fate ;  the  byways  of  the 
earth  would  slink  with  cowards.    It  is  as  well  that  men  do 

146 


In  the  Hands  of  Destiny     147 

not  know  what  may  transpire  with  the  coming  of  morn- 
ing; but  how  much  brighter  a  single  glimmer  of  hope 
would  make  the  night ! 

Yet,  though  deserted  by  hope,  Bamaby  had  sympathy. 

The  women  who  had  nursed  him  through  fever  and 
chill  had  gro^Ti  to  love  the  patient  boy,  and  to  admire  the 
quiet  courage  shown  in  his  endurance  of  weakness  and 
pain.  The  proud  lift  of  his  head,  and  the  shadow  of  sad- 
ness which  lay  in  his  eyes  and  the  line  of  his  lips,  won  the 
way  to  their  hearts  like  a  spell.  The  very  things  they  had 
done  for  him  had  made  them  love  him,  which  is  often  the 
case  with  women;  and  so,  although  the  men  regarded 
him  as  almost  a  gift  of  Providence,  sent  to  assure  their 
purpose,  the  women  looked  upon  him  with  compassion. 
Whatever  his  place  in  the  world  might  be,  whoever  were 
his  people,  he  was  a  homeless,  motherless,  wandering  boy ; 
that  was  enough  for  them. 

"Gerrit,"  said  Juffrouw  Van  Sweringen,  as  they  sat 
together  in  the  doorway  when  twilight  filled  the  walls  of 
the  fort  as  if  it  were  a  cup  of  shadows,  "it  seemeth  a 
hard  case  indeed  that  the  lad  must  be  taken  back.  He 
is  certainly  gentle-bom,  however  he  hath  been  bred. 
There  is  not  a  tattoo-mark  on  him,  and  he  is  surely  no 
mariner's  son." 

*  *  But  he  was  a  servant,  Barbara ;  and  servants  may  not 
escape  from  their  masters,  no  matter  what  their  own  birth 
may  have  been.  Gentle-bom  people  are  found  in  strange 
places  in  countries  as  young  as  the  New  World  is.  More- 
over, Barbara,  what  saith  the  law?    A  runaway  servant 


148  Barnaby  Lee 

must  be  returned  to  the  master  from  whom  he  hath  fled 
away. ' ' 

"True,  Gerrit;  that  is  the  ordinance:  but  what  saith 
the  Mosaic  law?  'If  a  servant  shelter  himself  with  thee 
against  a  cruel  master,  thou  surely  shalt  not  deliver  him 
up.'  " 

"  If  we  do  not  deliver  him  up, ' '  replied  Van  Sweringen, 
"then  doth  my  mission  fail,  and  with  it  fails  New  Nether- 
land  for  thee  and  me  and  Dorothy.  Nay,  Barbara;  the 
boy  must  serve  the  turn ;  there  is  no  other  way. ' ' 

"Yet  the  blessed  Scripture  teacheth  us  to  deal  justly 
and  to  love  mercy. ' ' 

' '  Ay ;  but  it  putteth  justice  first, ' '  rejoined  Van  Swer- 
ingen. ' '  We  would  be  just ;  but  justice  means  adherence 
to  the  established  law;  and  so,  whether  the  boy  were  of 
use  to  us,  or  useful  for  nothing  at  all,  our  word  is  our 
word,  the  law  is  the  law,  and  we  must  return  him.  His 
rights  he  must  seek  in  the  courts  of  Maryland." 

' '  But,  Gerrit,  I  thought  that  the  law  was  the  right  ? ' ' 

*  *  I  thought  so  once  myself.  But  be  it  the  right  or  be  it 
the  wrong,  we  have  given  our  word  and  must  keep  it. 
We  had  no  choice  in  the  first  place,  and  necessity  hath 
left  us  less.  Now  let  us  speak  of  other  things;  there  is 
no  profit  in  this.    Hast  had  thy  supper,  Dorothy  t ' ' 

The  girl  was  sitting  in  the  shadow  of  the  door,  with 
her  head  leaning  against  the  wall  and  her  slender  hand 
to  her  cheek. 

'  *  Nay,  father ;  I  have  had  no  supper,  nor  do  I  care  for 
any." 


In  the  Hands  of  Destiny     149 

*  *  Then  go  to  thy  room ;  for  it  is  bedtime,  and  the  wind 
is  growing  chill. ' ' 

She  arose  and  went  up  to  her  room  beneath  the  roof 
of  the  northern  gable.  The  window  was  full  of  stars. 
When  her  little  blue  petticoat  was  slipped  off  and  laid 
across  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  the  little  shoes  set  side 
by  side,  she  went  to  the  open  window,  and  kneeling 
there  beside  the  sill,  her  cheek  upon  her  folded  hands, 
watched  the  constellations  swing  in  the  sky,  steadily, 
solemnly,  peacefully.  It  seemed  to  her  that  the  mighty 
hand  which  had  formed  and  ordered  that  array  might 
reserve  from  harm  the  helpless  and  the  friendless;  not 
only  might,  but  would ;  not  only  would,  but  must,  moved 
by  the  depth  of  the  infinite  mercy  that  oversees  many 
earths,  and  on  not  one,  without  pity,  sees  a  sparrow 
faU.  A  face  as  sweet  as  that  of  the  English  boy  must  be 
reserved  for  some  kinder  fate  than  ignominy  and  wrath, 
injustice  and  cruelty.  ' '  God  will  not  forsake  him.  Nay ; 
he  wUl  keep  him  as  he  keepeth  my  father;  his  strength 
is  with  the  fatherless,  his  power  for  the  righteous.  He 
wiU  never  fail  those  who  trust  him,  for  Christ's  sake. 
Amen."  Turning  with  a  quiet  face,  she  laid  herself 
down  upon  her  bed,  and  was  soon  asleep. 

"God  will  keep  him,"  she  said  as  she  closed  her  eyes. 

On  the  fourth  night  after  this,  as  Bamaby  sat  in  the 
door  looking  out  into  the  twilight,  a  man  with  a  rolling 
gait,  like  a  sailor,  came  in  at  the  gate  of  the  fort,  and, 
after  inquiry  of  the  sentry,  accosted  Mynheer  Van  Swer- 


150  Barnaby  Lee 

ingen,  who  was  strolling  alone  in  the  parade,  quietly 
smoking  his  pipe.  When  he  had  briefly  delivered  hia 
message,  Van  Sweringen  said:  "Tell  thy  master  that  I 
and  my  party  will  be  on  time."  Then  the  man  went 
out  at  the  fort  gate;  and  Van  Sweringen,  turning,  came 
across  the  parade  to  the  stoop  before  the  darkened  door. 
"Art  there?"  he  asked,  peering  into  the  shadow. 

"Ay,"  returned  Barnaby,  making  a  movement. 

*  *  Didst  hear  what  yon  sailor  said  ? ' ' 

"Nay,"  said  Barnaby;  "I  gave  no  attention." 

"Well,"  continued  Van  Sweringen,  "he  is  a  sailor 
from  the  Bonte  Koe,  the  herring-buss  on  which  we  are  to 
sail,  and  bringeth  word  that  we  are  to  flit  at  the  turn  of 
the  tide  in  the  morning.  Hold  thyself  in  readiness,  for 
we  must  be  doing  early.  I  will  have  the  house-servant 
call  thee  at  the  changing  of  the  watch.  The  clothes  thou 
hast  on  will  do ;  the  juffrouw  giveth  them  to  thee.  Go  to 
bed  now ;  thou  hast  need  of  the  rest.    Good  night. ' ' 

"Good  night,"  said  Barnaby. 

He  was  awake  when  they  came  to  call  him.  He  had 
slept  but  little.  He  sat  up  and  brushed  the  hair  back 
from  his  face;  then  he  knelt  and  said  his  prayers.  His 
heart  was  aching,  but— "What  is  the  good  of  it ?"  he  said. 
*  *  What  is  the  good  of  breaking  my  heart  ?  It  is  the  only 
one  that  I  have,  and  it  must  serve  me  out  my  lifetime; 
't  is  no  good  breaking  it ! "  Things  on  earth  were  as  they 
were,  and  the  heartache  would  not  change  them. 

He  had  dreamed  to  lay  hold  on  freedom,  and  had 
grasped  but  a  handful  of  air.    Life  was  hard  indeed  to 


In  the  Hands  of  Destiny      151 

him.  Yet  he  made  up  his  mind  to  bear  his  lot  as  bravely 
as  he  might. 

A  breeze  had  sprung  up  in  the  night.  The  trees  were 
stirring  with  a  cool,  pleasant  sound.  It  was  early  when 
they  went  to  the  landing,  and  the  dwelling-houses  were 
closed  against  the  light.  The  crooked  way  was  deep  with 
the  dust,  and  their  feet  grew  gray  with  it.  At  the  Stad- 
Huis  Mynheer  Van  Sweringen  stopped  and  brushed  the 
dust  from  his  shoes. 

They  were  joined  at  the  Stad-Huis  by  Captain  Kregier, 
Tierek  Van  Ruyn,  the  commissary's  clerk,  secretary  of 
the  embassy,  and  Albert  Corlaer,  the  garrison  trumpeter, 
a  straight,  smooth-shaven,  clear-eyed  man.  The  mas- 
ter of  the  Bonte  Koe,  Jan  Jansen,  a  ruddy  Fleming,  met 
them  at  the  landing  with  two  sailors  and  his  yawl.  The 
men  were  stout-backed  fellows,  as  broad  as  a  tavern-door ; 
their  faces  were  very  red.  They  wore  green  jackets  with 
shark-bone  buttons  as  yellow  as  fiddlewood,  and  they  were 
very  stout  fellows  indeed,  as  was  the  skipper  himself. 
He  occupied  half  the  stern-sheets.  They  rowed  the  party 
aboard.  The  vessel  lay  north  of  the  finger-post,  her  dark- 
red  sails  already  unfurled  and  puffing  in  the  wind.  The 
watch  were  heaving  up  her  anchor. 

"Mynheer,  the  tide  is  going  out,"  said  the  mate  to 
Skipper  Jansen,  as  they  all  came  clambering  over  the 
rail. 

"Well,"  said  the  skipper,  stolidly,  "so  is  my  pipe. 
Wilt  get  the  ship  under  way?  If  this  wind  holds  we 
shall  anchor  at  St.  Mary's  in  five  days." 


CHAPTER  XIX 
IN  OLD  ST.  Mary's  town 

IT  was  morning  in  St,  Mary 's,  and  a  day  near  the  end 
of  June.  The  sun  shone  with  a  penetrating  heat 
which  before  noon  had  grown  almost  fierce.  The  men 
who  went  about  the  village  street  were  clad  in  the  lightest 
linen,  with  straw  hats  peaked  like  steeples.  Here  and 
there  a  negro  slave  went  slowly  to  and  fro,  bare  to  the 
waist,  like  a  statue  of  ebony,  and  with  a  bright  turban 
around  his  head. 

Across  the  south,  where  the  Potomac  flowed,  the  hori- 
zon blazed  like  a  streak  of  flame.  The  distant  hills  along 
the  west  were  dark  with  yellow  pine-trees,  and  in  the 
north  the  broad  white  cart-road  wound  away  like  a  river 
of  dust. 

Here  and  there  along  the  road  stood  scattered  dwelling- 
houses,  thatched  with  straw  or  pale-green  rushes,  or 
roofed  with  cheery  red  English  tiles,  each  house  alone 
in  its  orchard,  peeping  through  the  green.  Here  and 
there  a  small  group  of  houses  stood  in  a  clustering  grove 
of  trees  like  friendly  neighbors  gossiping,  with  straw- 
bound  beehives,  roses,  and  apple-treee  all  about  them— 
the  head  of  some  great  plantation,  and  a  community  in 
themselves. 

i5e 


In  Old  St.  Mary's  Town     153 

The  elinking  sound  of  distant  cow-bells,  falling  faintly 
from  the  uplands,  the  shrill,  sweet  song  of  a  bird  in  the 
shady  dellu  below,  the  pleasant  voice  of  a  woman  singing 
somewhere  in  the  meadows,  gathered,  mingled,  and 
floated  out  across  the  quiet  town  in  a  harmony  which 
seemed  to  be  a  part  of  the  day  itself. 

Down  around  the  landing-place  the  air  was  heavy  with 
spicy  smells.  The  wharves  were  piled  with  bales  and 
casks.  Kegs  of  spirits,  of  rum,  and  of  sugar,  ginger, 
molasses,  and  lime-juice,  with  rolls  of  hides  and  tobacco- 
trundles,  lay  heaped  in  the  hot  sun. 

In  a  barn  beyond  the  landing-place  a  crew  of  petti- 
coated  seamen  were  stowing  leaf -tobacco ;  and  in  an  open 
place  near  the  barn  a  heap  of  spoiled  tobacco  lay  smol- 
dering, filling  the  air  with  pungent  smoke. 

The  sunlight  on  the  landing  was  intolerably  bright. 
Along  the  roadway  through  the  bluff  the  hot  air  danced 
against  the  sky.  Above  the  bluff  arose  the  top  of  a  huge 
mulberry-tree,  and  upon  the  trunk  of  the  mulberry  a 
man  was  nailing  a  placard. 

His  mouth  was  full  of  copper  tacks,  and  he  was  in  his 
shirt-sleeves ;  his  hair  was  cut  so  very  short  that  his  bare 
head  looked  like  a  turnip. 

A  sailor  in  a  red  peaked  cap  came  slowly  up  from  the 
landing.  His  feet  were  bare,  and  his  great  brown  toes 
dug  deeply  into  the  dust. 

In  his  hand  he  carried  a  letter,  ill  sealed  and  dirty.  "I 
be  a-looking  for  Master  Richard  Roe,"  he  said,  when  he 
had  come  to  the  mulberry-tree. 


154  Barnaby  Lee 


The  man  with  the  tacks  in  his  mouth  made  an  inarticu- 
late sound,  and  went  on  with  his  tacking. 

' '  I  have  a  letter  for  him, ' '  added  the  sailor. 

The  tacker  drove  home  his  last  tack,  and  then,  "Who 
did  ye  say  it  was  for  ? "  he  asked. 

*  "T  is  for  Master  Richard  Roe, ' '  replied  the  sailor, 
"Be  you  he?" 

"No,  I  be  n't,"  rejoined  the  other;  "I  be  Master  Roger 
Askridge,  under-secretary  of  the  province." 

"  Oh ! "  said  the  sailor,  helplessly.  Then  he  stood  and 
looked  about  him.  "I  be  Mad  Will  of  Bristol,  and  I  be 
daffy  in  the  wits. ' ' 

*  *  Poor  soul ! ' '  said  Roger  Askridge. 

* '  Ay, ' '  said  the  sailor,  smiling  vacantly ;  ' '  that  be  what 
mother  said  alway."  He  turned  the  letter  in  his  hand, 
and  looked  along  the  hill  slope.  "I  be  a-looking  for 
Richard  Roe,  for  Master  Richard  Roe:  R-i-c-h-a-r-d 
R-o-e,"  said  he;  "I  learned  my  letters  at  a  school,  but 
that  was  afore  I  went  daffy. ' ' 

Just  at  the  summit  of  the  slope  stood  a  row  of  houses 
with  walls  of  chocolate-colored  brick  and  roofs  of  Flemish 
tiles.  On  the  porch  of  one  of  these  houses,  beside  the 
open  door,  a  tall,  dark  man,  very  handsomely  dressed,  was 
standing  in  the  sun. 

Although  the  day  was  exceedingly  hot,  he  seemed  to 
court  the  sunlight,  and  to  turn  and  spread  himself  before 
it  like  a  butterfly.  He  wore  a  wig  of  long,  black,  fall- 
ing curls;  his  coat  was  of  crimson  velvet  with  buttons 
of  silver-gilt;  his  waistcoat  of  grass-green  satin,  laced 


In  Old  St.  Mary's  Town     155 

with  gold  thread.  At  his  watch-fob  hung  a  seal  cut  from 
a  yellow  Brazilian  stone,  which,  like  its  master,  seemed  to 
love  the  glory  of  the  sunlight,  and  to  spread  itself  and  to 
gather  the  radiance  until  it  blazed  with  borrowed  splen- 
dor. Rich  lace  ruffles  drooped  at  throat  and  wrist  of  the 
crimson  coat,  and  seemed  to  be  to  their  wearer  as  the 
savor  of  balsam  to  the  nostrils;  for  he  ran  his  fingers 
through  them,  spread  them  back  across  the  velvet  sleeve, 
laid  them  softly  down  again  with  light,  caressing  touches, 
and,  rubbing  his  hands  together,  smoothed  his  hollow 
cheek,  and  turned  himself  from  side  to  side,  resplendent 
in  the  sunshine. 

' '  Here, ' '  he  said ;  * '  you  man  there,  you  sailor-man  with 
the  letter,  who  be  ye  looking  for ! ' ' 

The  sailor  bowed  with  a  vacant  smile.  "  I  be  a-looking 
for  Master  Roe— Master  Richard  Roe,"  he  said, 

"There  's  no  such  person  hereabouts,"  said  Askridge, 
going  in  at  the  door. 

The  seaman  twirled  the  letter  and  looked  helplessly 
about  him. 

' '  Here, ' '  said  the  gentleman,  with  a  gesture,  * '  leave  me 
see  that  letter." 

"  It  be  for  Master  Richard  Roe, ' '  said  the  sailor,  doubt- 
fully. 

"All  right,"  replied  the  gentleman,  holding  out  his 
hand.  "I  will  see  to  it  that  he  gets  it.  "Well?"  he  said 
impatiently ;  for  the  simple  rogue  still  stood,  turning  the 
letter  helplessly  over  and  over. 

"It  be  for  Master  Richard  Roe,"  the  man  replied, 


156  Barnaby  Lee 

"and  I  'm  to  fetch  an  answer  to  it,  and  I  'm  to  have  a 
shilling.     Be  you  Master  Roel"  he  asked  suspiciously. 

The  gentleman  imperiously  stretched  out  his  hand  and 
took  the  crumpled  letter.  "Don't  be  a  greater  fool," 
said  he,  "than  Providence  ordained  ye.  Sit  down  here 
on  the  step  and  wait,  if  you  're  to  take  back  an  answer. '  * 

"Where  be  my  shilling?"  asked  the  simpleton,  anx- 
iously. 

"Sit  down  and  wait  for  it,  ye  fool,"  rejoined  the  gen- 
tleman ;  and  turning  sharply  on  his  heel  without  further 
speech,  he  went  in  at  the  entry. 

The  sailor  leaned  against  the  wall  and  stared  across 
the  fields.  Over  the  bluffs  could  just  be  seen  the  waters 
of  the  inlet  dancing  and  sparkling  in  the  sun.  A  broad- 
beamed  Flemish  herring-buss  was  coming  up  the  channel. 
As  she  crept  along,  the  bluffs  arose  until  they  stood  mast- 
high  and  shut  away  the  wind  from  her  sails.  Yet  still 
she  slowly  forged  ahead,  with  her  dull  red  topsails  flutter- 
ing, until  her  foremast  ranged  beyond  the  mulberry. 
Then  sluggishly  luffing  up  into  the  wind,  which  was 
now  almost  fallen  away,  she  stood  motionless  for  a  mo- 
ment, her  sails  like  idle  banners;  then,  with  a  shrill, 
sudden  sound  of  a  chain,  she  let  an  anchor  go. 

The  simpleton  turned  to  look  at  her,  and  watched  her 
topmasts  drifting  until  her  cable  tautened  and  she  swung 
with  the  stream.  "There  be  good  ships  in  Bristol,"  he 
said,  with  a  silly  nod;  and  then  a  cloud-swept,  dreamy 
silence  fell  upon  St.  Mary's  Town,  Everything  seemed 
fallen  asleep. 


In  Old  St.  Mary's  Town      157 

So,  for  a  few  short  moments,  the  summer  day  slid  by. 
Then  over  the  bluff  a  cloud  of  dust  floated  up  from  the 
road  running  down  to  the  landing,  and  through  the 
dreamy  stillness  came  a  sound  of  voices.  Master  Roger 
Askridge  looked  out  of  the  window.  ' '  There  's  somebody 
coming, ' '  said  he. 

The  gentleman  with  the  crimson  coat  jerked  up  his  pen 
from  the  paper.  "Who  can  be  coming  here?"  he  said, 
with  an  irritated  air.  ''There  is  no  one  at  all  should  be 
coming  here." 

"Well,  they  're  coming,  just  the  same,  and  I  've  got 
this  notice  here  to  post.  I  think  I  '11  go  and  post  it," 
replied  the  under-secretary.    "I  will  come  right  back." 

The  gentleman  in  the  crimson  coat  got  up  and  looked 
out  of  the  window.  * '  Who  can  be  a-coming  here  to-day  ? '  * 
he  muttered  fretfully,  watching  the  little  white  cloud  of 
dust  that  drifted  on  the  wind  above  the  hollow  roadway 
coming  up  through  the  bluff.  Then  along  the  clovered 
slope  which  lay  before  the  town  came  three  men  walking 
rapidly.  It  was  Mynheer  Gerrit  Van  Sweringen  and 
Captain  Martin  Kregier,  with  Barnaby  Lee  following 
after  them. 

Briskly  up  past  the  mulberry  they  came  through  the 
shimmering  grass.  Master  Roger  Askridge  was  standing 
in  the  door. 

'  *  Good-morrow, ' '  said  he.  *  *  Who  might  ye  be  seeking  t 
The  Governor,  Master  Charles  Calvert?  Alack,  sirs,  his 
Excellency  is  out ;  he  hath  gone  to  spend  Midsummer  Eve 
in  a  frolic  at  Master  William  Darnell 's,  and  I  think  that 


I ^S  Barnaby  Lee 

he  will  scarcely  return  before  to-morrow  morning.  Pray, 
what  might  be  the  nature  of  your  business  with  him, 
sirs?  Perchance  't  is  something  I  can  do.  I  am  Roger 
Askwith  Askridge,  under-secretary  of  the  province." 

Van  Sweringen  bowed  profoundly.  "My  name  is 
Gerrit  Van  Sweringen,"  said  he.  "I  am  the  sheriff  of 
New  Amstel.  I  am  come  hither  from  his  Excellency  the 
Governor  of  New  Netherland,  to  return  an  apprentice,  a 
fugitive  taken  at  New  Amsterdam. ' ' 

"Mynheer,  I  salute  ye,"  said  Askridge,  bowing  most 
courteously.  "Pr'ythee,  come  into  our  office;  it  is  ex- 
ceeding hot  out  here. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XX 

**I  WILL  NOT  HAVE  HIM  HBEB" 

THE  gentleman  in  the  crimson  coat  was  sitting  at  his 
desk  beneath  the  northward  window,  with  his  back 
to  the  room.  His  wig  was  hanging  on  the  chair,  and  he 
seemed  to  be  very  busy.  As  the  strangers  came  into  the 
office  he  neither  turned  nor  looked  up,  but  continued,  ap- 
parently, as  he  had  been,  deeply  engrossed  with  the  paper 
before  him. 

*  *  Did  I  understand  ye,  sir,  to  say  that  ye  have  brought 
back  a  runaway  apprentice!"  asked  Askridge,  as  they 
came  into  the  room. 

' '  Yes, ' '  replied  Van  Sweringen ;  "  a  flute-ship 's  cabin- 
boy." 

The  gentleman  in  the  crimson  coat  had  taken  up  a 
quill  and  begun  to  write  a  letter;  but  at  Mynheer  Van 
Sweringen 's  answer  to  the  under-secretary,  his  hand 
stopped  with  a  little  jerk,  and  he  did  not  go  on  writing. 
He  raised  his  head  a  trifle,  with  a  curious  expression  on 
his  face,  and  sat  with  pen  uplifted,  listening. 

' '  A  flute-ship  ?  Hm-m-m ! ' '  said  Askridge.  *  *  There 
be  a  heap  of  flute-ships,  sir. ' ' 

"This  one  was  a  trading-coaster  by  the  name  of  the 
Ragged  Staff." 

160 


i6o  Barnaby  Lee 


"I  do  not  recollect  that  name,"  said  the  under-secre- 
tary,  ' '  There  be  such  a  heap  of  flute-ships  going  up  and 
down  the  coast  that  I  can't  keep  track  of  them  all.  But 
I  will  look  in  the  register,  mynheer;  she  may  be  noted 
there. ' '  He  took  the  pigskin  volume  down  from  the  shelf, 
and  turned  its  pale  gray  pages  one  by  one.  "Well,  she  's 
not  on  the  register,  sir,"  he  said  after  a  moment.  "I 
will  examine  the  general  shipping-lists;  she  may  be  en- 
tered among  them." 

Captain  Kregier  was  standing  by  the  window,  with  the 
steady  gaze  of  his  nut-brown  eyes  fastened  upon  the 
crimson  coat  of  the  gentleman  sitting  at  the  desk.  If 
there  was  one  thing  more  than  another  that  Captain 
Kregier  coveted,  it  was  a  crimson  velvet  coat.  Crimson,  to 
him,  seemed  the  acme  of  all  color  for  a  soldier.  "Ah," 
thought  he,  "here  is  a  spitfire,  and  a  regular  reck-for- 
naught ! ' '  But  when  he  came  to  the  head  at  the  top, 
**0h,  no,"  said  he,  in  disgust;  "no  devil-dare  that  ever 
lived  had  a  head  like  a  pale  blue  turnip. ' ' 

Master  Roger  Askridge  turned  the  pages  of  the  record. 
* '  No,  mynheer, ' '  he  said  at  last ;  ' '  she  's  not  on  the  ship- 
ping-lists.   Are  ye  right  certain  of  the  name  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  replied  Van  Sweringen;  "I  read  it  on  the 
stern. ' ' 

"Well,  't  is  neither  in  our  shipping-lists  nor  on  the 
register,"  said  Askridge. 

"That  is  singular  indeed,"  said  Van  Sweringen. 
"She  certainly  hailed  from  here." 

The  gentleman  sitting  at  the  desk  had  begun  with  his 


"I  Will  Not  Have  Him  Here"  i6i 

writing  again,  seemingly  intent  upon  what  he  was  doing 
and  utterly  heedless  of  anything  else;  but  there  was  a 
queer  look  in  his  eye,  as  though  he  were  dazed,  and  when 
hie  pen  came  to  the  edge  of  the  sheet,  he  went  on  writing 
across  the  desk-top  as  if  oblivious  to  the  fact,  until  his 
hand  stopped  with  a  little  thump  against  a  pile  of  ledgers. 
He  sat  up  with  a  start.  ' '  You  are  in  error, ' '  he  said  in  a 
shrill,  nervous  voice. 

Van  Sweringen  turned  with  uplifted  brows,  and 
stared  at  the  unexpected  speaker.  The  latter  had  neither 
turned  his  head  nor  looked  to  see  to  whom  he  was  speak- 
ing. 

* '  You  are  in  error, ' '  he  said  once  more,  in  even  sharper 
tones  than  he  had  used  before.  ' '  There  is  no  such  vessel 
hails  from  here." 

"Sir,"  said  Van  Sweringen,  sharply,  "she  gave  this 
city  as  her  port." 

"Well,  there  's  no  such  vessel  hails  from  here," 
snapped  the  other,  peevishly.  "There  is  no  such  vessei 
htis  clearance  papers  out  of  St.  Mary's  port,  or  holds  a 
trading-license  of  us. "  As  he  spoke  he  took  a  book  from 
a  pigeonhole,  and  ran  his  lean  finger  rapidly  down  its 
ciosely  written  page.  ' '  There  be  only  these  commissions 
let  to  trade  with  the  savages :  Christopher  and  Abraham 
Birkenhead,  James  Jolly,  and  Jenkin  Price ;  and  we  have 
farmed  the  entire  traflSc  upon  the  Hudson  River.  I  tell 
you  that  Tom  Jones  of  the  Mary  Thorpe  has  the  only 
license  there." 

"This  ship  of  which  I  am  spe&king  had  no  license," 


1 62  Barnaby  Lee 


replied  Van  Sweringen,  instantly.  ' '  The  fact  is,  she  had 
nothing  that  an  honest  vessel  should  have";  and  with 
that  a  little  angry  flush  went  creeping  up  his  cheeks. 
"But,  sir,  do  ye  think  that  all  English  ships  sail  strictly 
in  accordance  with  either  the  Black  Book  of  the  Ad- 
miralty or  the  usage  of  Amsterdam  ?  Nay,  sir ;  they  do 
not.  Nor  are  they  all  observant  of  the  Sea  Laws  of 
Oleron,  nor  of  your  own  Master  John  Godolphin's  ad- 
mirable English  treatise  on  the  same.  This  vessel  was  an 
English  ship ;  her  name  was  the  Ragged  Staff;  and  her 
captain  called  himself  in  plain  fashion  'John  King  of 
Maryland.'  " 

The  blood  rushed  up  the  hollow  cheek  of  the  gentleman 
at  the  desk,  but  died  away  as  quickly  as  it  came,  and  left 
him  even  more  sallow  than  before.  "Sir,  what  proof  is 
that?"  he  asked.  "Suppose  the  rascal  lied?  A  man 
may  call  himself  by  any  name  that  happens  to  take  his 
fancy ;  or  claim  to  hail  from  a  dozen  different  ports  that 
chance  to  suit  his  convenience.  Because  a  rogue  bedubs 
himself  'John  King'  't  is  no  proof  that  't  is  his  name.  It 
may  be  Cook,  or  Brown,  or  Ostler. ' ' 

"Call  him  Ananias,"  replied  Van  Sweringen;  "that 
does  not  alter  the  fact,  sir,  that  all  the  goods  aboard  his 
craft  were  baled  in  Maryland,  that  the  vessel 's  masts  were 
of  Maryland  pine,  and  that  the  wine  which  was  in  her 
cabin  locker  was  labeled  'From  Tom  Vintner  of  St. 
Mary's  Town.'  " 

"Aha!"  chuckled  Kregier  to  himself.  "He  hath  Old 
Turnips  on  the  hip !    I  knew  he  had  good  wits. ' ' 


"I  Wil]  Not  Have  Him  Here"  163 

But  the  gentleman  in  the  crimson  velvet  coat  would  not 
look  around;  he  had  now  taken  up  a  penknife,  and  was 
scratching  at  a  blot  which  he  had  dropped  upon  his  paper, 
as  if  his  life  depended  upon  its  erasure. 

Van  Sweringen  stared  at  his  unmoved  back  with 
swiftly  gathering  resentment,  and  waited  an  instant  for  a 
reply.    But  there  was  no  reply. 

* '  Sir, ' '  said  Van  Sweringen,  sharply,  * '  have  ye  any  re- 
marks pertinent  to  this  case?" 

But  the  gentleman  made  no  reply.  He  went  on 
scratching  at  his  blot.  The  Dutch  ambassador  drew  him- 
self up  with  no  little  dignity.  "Sir,"  he  said,  with  im- 
perious asperity,  "construe  my  facts  as  suiteth  thee.  I 
have  come  to  see  his  Excellency,  your  Governor,  Charles 
Calvert.  I  shall  return  anon.  I  shall  see  if  the  port  of 
St.  Mary's  bloweth  both  hot  and  cold.  Meanwhile  1  shall 
consign  this  runaway  apprentice  to  the  Collector  of  the 
Port  in  case  his  master  should  claim  him." 

* '  No  master  will  come  to  claim  him ;  there  's  no  use  of 
leaving  him  here. ' ' 

' '  There  will  be  just  this  much  use  of  it :  there  are  two 
hundred  pounds  of  tobacco  due  us  for  his  return  to  you, 
a  bill  of  costs  to  be  settled  for  his  keep  since  the  1st  of 
April,  and  a  surgeon's  bill  to  be  discharged,  for  the  boy 
was  ill  a  month  or  more;  and  by  your  province's  agree- 
ment with  ours,  this  sum  your  Collector  is  bound  to  pay, 
whether  an  owner  appeareth  or  not." 

The  crimson-coated  gentleman  struck  his  fist  upon  his 
desk,  and,  with  sudden  unacoountaWe  excitement,  cried 


164  Barnaby  Lee 

in  a  shrill,  almost  angry  voice :  *  *  The  Collector  shall  not 
pay  a  farthing !  We  don 't  want  your  runaway.  I  don 't 
want  him  here ;  I  won't  have  him  here ;  the  Collector  shall 
not  receive  him. ' ' 

Van  Sweringen's  black  eyes  flashed. 

' '  Look  out ! ' '  muttered  Captain  Kregier  to  himself. 

Van  Sweringen  bridled  his  angry  tongue.  ' '  Your  Col- 
lector will  have  to  receive  him,"  he  said,  "and  that  is  all 
there  is  to  it." 

' '  The  Collector  shall  not  receive  him,  I  say.  I  will  not 
have  the  knave  here,"  the  man  at  the  desk  rejoined 
vehemently  in  an  agitated  voice.  ' '  I  should  like  to  know 
what  business  you  have  saying  what  my  Collector  shall 
do?" 

' '  Ach ! ' '  said  Martin  Kregier,  ' '  the  fat  is  in  the  fire ! ' ' 
For  the  blood  had  rushed  up  Van  Sweringen's  face  to 
the  very  roots  of  his  hair.  For  an  instant  the  angry  am- 
bassador stared  at  the  motionless  back  of  the  man  at  the 
desk  before  him;  then,  clapping  his  hand  upon  the  hilt 
of  his  rapier,  he  took  a  quick  step  forward.  "I  do  not 
know  who  you  may  be,  sir,"  he  said,  with  considerable 
fierceness,  "nor  do  I  know  that  I  care.  But  I  have  this 
much  to  say  to  you :  Your  courtesy  is  charming !  That  is 
to  say,  I  have  never  met  such  discourteous  insolence 
among  even  heathen  savages;  and,  upon  my  word  and 
honor,  sir,  were  I  not  come  into  Maryland  endued  with 
better  business,  I  would  give  you  a  lesson  in  manners. 
In  civilized  countries,  sir,  men  who  are  gentlemen  do  not 
converse  through  the  back  of  their  heads.  Do  you 
hear?" 


"I  Will  Not  Have  Him  Here"  165 

But  the  man  at  the  writing-desk  sat  as  unmoved  as  a 
graven  image. 

' '  Pah !  Foh ! ' '  continued  Van  Sweringen,  with  sudden 
contempt.  ' '  I  waste  my  time  on  thee.  Thou  art  a  spirit- 
less craven  as  well  as  a  boor ! ' '  He  whirled  upon  his  heel. 
"Come,  Captain,"  he  said  to  Kregier,  "we  have  other 
fish  to  fry.  We  shall  only  misdemean  ourselves  by  pick- 
ing quarrels  here.  Forward,"  he  said  to  Barnaby.  The 
boy  started  toward  the  door,  wondering  what  strange 
experience  mad  fortune  would  send  him  next.  But  the 
choice  was  not  his,  so  what  did  it  matter?  Before  him 
lay  the  dusty  road,  running  back  into  the  troubled  world ; 
behind  him  came  those  whom  fate  made  his  masters. 
So  Barnaby  went  as  he  was  told. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE   GOVERNOR   OF   MARYLAND 

WITH  head  held  high  and  a  face  like  a  thunder- 
cloud, Van  Sweringen  strode  wrathfuUy  out  at 
the  office  door,  Barnaby  going  before  him,  Captain  Kre- 
gier  following  after. 

Barnaby  neither  knew  nor  cared  what  might  be  their 
destination.  But  just  as  they  came  down  the  steps  of  the 
porch  there  arose  a  sudden  shouting.  Looking  up,  they 
saw  a  party  of  horsemen  galloping  down  the  roadway 
through  the  town. 

Two  of  them  were  riding  ahead,  shouting  and  plying 
whip  and  spur.  Side  by  side,  turning  from  the  road, 
leaving  the  dust  awhirl  behind  them,  they  came  thumping 
down  the  slope. 

' ' Hurrah ! ' '  cried  the  foremost.  "I  Ve  beaten  ye  this 
time,  Will ;  the  dozen  of  clary  's  mine ! ' ' 

Leaping  down  from  his  horse  as  he  spoke,  he  came  run- 
ning lightly  over  the  grass. 

He  was  a  young  man,  handsome,  agile,  and  slender, 
but  well  knit  and  squarely  built,  tall  and  dark,  with  olive 
skin  and  a  ruddy  cheek  like  a  gipsy's.  His  eyes  were 
keen  and  sparkling ;  he  had  a  straight,  long  nose,  a  firm 
mouth,  and  an  under  lip  as  bright  of  color  and  smooth  of 

166 


The  Governor  of  Maryland    167 

texture  as  a  bit  of  cherry-skin.  Like  his  Majesty  the 
King,  he  wore  no  beard,  but  both  lip  and  chin  were 
smooth-shaven.  His  hair  was  cut  short  across  his  brows, 
but  at  the  back  was  thick  and  long,  curling  upon  his 
shoulders,  and  gathered  together  with  a  bow  of  cherry- 
colored  ribbon.  His  forehead  was  high,  with  heavy  brows 
as  straight  as  if  drawn  with  a  ruler;  but,  despite  this 
touch  of  severity,  his  face  was  merry,  frank,  and  kind. 
He  wore  a  pair  of  heavy  riding-boots,  and  his  riding- 
coat  was  of  rough  dark  stuff;  but  the  lace  at  his  wrists 
and  throat  was  rich  and  delicate. 

He  was  laughing  gaily ;  but  seeing  strangers,  he  at  once 
assumed  dignity,  and  with  a  gracious,  quiet  manner, 
came  up  to  the  little  porch  just  as  Van  Sweringen  was 
coming  down.  "Hullo!"  he  cried,  with  another  sudden 
change,  * '  what  in  the  world  ?  Bless  my  heart,  't  is  Gerrit 
Van  Swerrington!  Where  in  the  name  of  all  that  is 
blessed  have  you  come  tumbling  from,  man?" 

Van  Sweringen 's  clouded  countenance  brightened  as 
he  clasped  the  new-comer's  extended  hand. 

"From  the  same  old  place,  your  Excellency:  New 
Amstel,"  he  replied. 

^'Semper  fidelis,'^  laughed  the  other.  "But  don't  call 
me  'your  Excellency.'  Plague  take  your  propriety!  I 
beg  of  ye,  be  free.  I  am  only  the  fellow  ye  shot  ducks 
with  in  the  marshes  by  Fort  Altona." 

As  he  spoke  the  rest  came  galloping  up  with  a  thump- 
ing of  unshod  hoofs  and  a  deafening  clamor  of  yelping 
hounds. 


i68  Barnaby  Lee 

"Pardon  this  infernal  row!"  said  the  young  man, 
laughing.  "They  have  broken  our  midsummer  revel  to 
bits,  and  a  murrain  on  the  scoundrels !  Where  did  ye  say 
the  rascals  hive?"  he  asked  of  a  stoutish  gray  man,  on 
whose  weather-beaten  cheeks  the  unshaven  beard  stood 
like  crisp  white  stubble. 

' '  About  St.  Inigoes  inlet, ' '  replied  the  stout  man,  hotly ; 
"and  they  ha'  taken  three  of  my  best  steers!"  As  he 
spoke  he  sprang  down  from  his  stout  roan  cob  and  hur- 
ried up  to  the  steps.  "I  wish  that  you  would  be  after 
them  with  a  sharp  stick.  Master  Calvert ! ' ' 

"And,  Charlie,"  cried  another  of  the  party,  running 
up,  a  pretty  lad,  flushed  with  haste,  and  riding  in  his 
shirt-sleeves,  "they  've  took  my  swine,  and  robbed  my 
corn-bins;  confound  the  vagabonds!  A  black-avised 
rogue  with  a  hooky  nose  like  a  Madagascar  parrot  is  head 
and  front  of  their  array,  and  a  long-legged,  red-headed 
son  of  Saul,  as  big  as  a  sycamore-tree,  who  knocked  my 
overseer  head  over  heels  like  an  empty  meal-sack.  Look 
to  'em,  Charlie;  look  to  'em.    I  say  it  is  a  shame !" 

' '  I  have  writ  to  Sheriff  Rozer, ' '  replied  the  young  man 
on  the  steps,  "and  advised  with  him  to  lose  no  time  in 
breaking  up  this  crew. ' ' 

"They  hang  about  James  Jolly's  place,  beyond  Kitt 
Martin's  Point,"  struck  in  another  of  the  riders,  dis> 
mounting. 

' '  That  shall  cost  Master  James  Jolly  a  thousand  pound 
of  good  Jarboes  tobacco. ' ' 

"But  that  will  not  bring  back  my  swine,"  cried  the 


The  Governor  of  Maryland    169 

shirt-sleeved  lad,  with  trembling  lip ;  "  and  they  were  the 
sweetest  swine ! ' ' 

"They  ha'  slain  our  stock  most  felon-like,"  said  an- 
other, indignantly.  '  *  They  ha '  run  off  two  whole  droves 
of  hogs  belonging  to  Giles  Brent,  and  half  of  Moses 
Stagwell's  sheep.  Gadzounds!  it  is  a  shame.  There  's 
some  one  here  connives  with  them ;  I  '11  take  my  oath 
upon  it." 

' '  The  truth  for  you  there,  Parker, ' '  said  the  stout  man, 
wrathfully.  "There  's  some  one  here  connives  with  the 
rogues,  or  my  name  is  not  Thomas  Cornwalleys.  I  'd  love 
to  give  the  whole  clam-jamphrey  lot  an  overhauling.  I 
trow  't  is  the  same  identical  crew  that  plundered  my 
place  afore.  'T  would  please  my  soul  to  see  'em  swinging 
on  Execution  Dock ! ' ' 

The  gentleman  in  the  crimson  coat  had  risen  from  the 
desk  at  sound  of  the  clamor  outside,  and  coming  swiftly 
across  the  floor,  was  looking  out  at  the  window.  At 
Thomas  Cornwalleys 's  wrathful  speech  the  color  went 
from  his  hollow  cheek  as  if  it  had  been  a  lantern  and  some 
one  with  a  sudden  puff  had  blown  the  candle  out. 

"I  will  see  to  it,  Colonel,"  said  the  young  man  on  the 
steps.  " 'T  is  an  outrage  and  a  scandal.  They  ha' put  a 
shame  upon  our  coasts  by  their  impudent  piracies.  But 
I  '11  put  a  stop  to  their  thievery,  or  I  '11  know  the  reason 
why ;  and  if  any  one  here  has  had  a  hand  in  it,  I  '11  dog 
him  out  of  his  hole,  and  post  him  for  a  thieving  rogue 
from  Maryland  to  Maine.  By  the  bones  of  the  Red 
O'Donnell,  I  will !  — I  don't  care  who  he  i»!" 


ijQ  Barnaby  Lee 


Colonel  Thomas  Comwalleys  mounted  his  roan  and 
went  pelting  away  at  a  stout  hand-gallop.  "See  to  'em, 
Master  Calvert ;  see  to  'em  with  a  sharp  stick ! "  he  cried, 
as  he  gathered  his  reins  and  turned  into  the  road. 

"I  give  ye  my  word  I  will  see  to  it  instantly,"  rejoined 
Master  Calvert;  then  he  turned  to  the  lad  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves: "Ye  will  stop  with  us,  will  ye  not,  Cecil,  for 
dinner  ? ' ' 

' '  Sure,  I  will,  an  ye  '11  cover  me  with  a  coat, ' '  replied 
the  young  fellow,  with  a  pleasant  laugh.  "There  's 
strangers ;  and  ah,  but  your  board  will  groan !  Ye  set  a 
lovely  table,  Charlie. ' ' 

"Strangers?"  cried  the  governor.  "Bless  me,  I  for- 
got! Mynheer  Van  Swerrington,  I  pray  ye  will  pardon 
an  absent  mind ! "  he  said,  and  turned  with  flushed 
cheek.  "These  picaroons  drive  me  distracted.  I  had 
quite  forgot  that  ye  were  here. ' ' 

Van  Sweringen  laughed.  *  *  I  am  not  so  great  but  that 
I  can  be  forgotten." 

"Nay,  nor  so  small  as  the  thorn  in  my  heel  that  I 
should  long  to  forget  ye.  Let  me  make  my  cousin  Master 
Langford  acquaint  with  ye.  Mynheer  Van  Swerrington, 
Cecil,  the  sheriff  of  New  Amstel.  Ye  've  heard  me  speak 
of  him  often.  Your  luggage  is  up.  Van  Swerrington? 
Not  up  ?  Well,  I  '11  see  to  that.  Here,  Tranto, ' '  he  called 
to  a  footman  who  was  standing  by  the  door,  "send  Pedro 
and  Ishmael  down  to  the  wharf  and  fetch  up  the  gentle- 
man's baggage.  Tell  'em  to  put  it  in  the  wing  room  with 
the  flowered  window-curtains;  and  tell  Peggy  Rowan  to 


The  Governor  of  Maryland    lyj 

see  to  it  that  the  bed-linen  is  changed.  Upon  my  word, 
Van  Swerrington,  it  is  good  for  sore  eyes  to  see  ye!" 

'  *  I  thank  you, ' '  replied  Van  Sweringen.  ' '  I  am  happy, 
Master  Calvert,  that  the  poor  eyes  are  yours,  if  there  must 
be  poor  eyes  and  I  am  to  do  them  good.  But  the  name, 
ye  know,  is  Van  Sweringen. ' ' 

"  'Van  Sweringen'?  Ay,  to  be  sure;  that  's  so.  But 
I  cannot  remember  names.  They  're  like  the  catechism : 
I  know  it,  but  can't  recollect  it  just  when  I  want  it  the 
most.  Ye  should  hear  my  cousin  Philip ;  he  knows  it 
from  'Who  made  ye?'  to  the  'three  great  things.'  But 
when  did  ye  come  down  to  St.  Mary's?  And  will  ye  be 
here  until  I  can  have  a  party  ?  Sure,  I  'd  like  ye  to  meet 
our  gentry.  There  's  not  a  finer  lot  in  the  land.  They  're 
just  your  sort,  Van  Sweringen:  upon  my  soul,  they  are! 
Why  can  ye  not  just  throw  over  the  Dutch  and  settle  with 
us  down  here?" 

Van  Sweringen  flushed.  ' '  Hut,  tut ! "  said  he,  ' '  let  's 
have  no  more  of  that.  Master  Calvert ;  we  wasted  enough 
time  on  pros  and  cons  the  last  time  we  met.  A  dog  must 
kennel  with  his  kind. ' ' 

"But,  man  alive,  they  're  not  your  kind,"  the  young 
governor  rejoined.  "Foxhounds  don't  kennel  with  turn- 
spits, and  you  're  no  scurvy  trader.  Come  down  and 
cast  your  lot  with  us ;  we  want  more  gentry  here.  Come 
down  and  bring  your  family;  I  '11  set  ye  up  in  land." 

As  he  spoke  he  turned  toward  Bamaby,  who  had  gone 
among  the  horses,  and  was  making  free  with  all  of  them 
as  though  he  had  been  a  hostler,    ' '  Is  that  your  son,  Van 


172  Barnaby  Lee 

Swerrington?  He  has  a  fair,  sweet  face;  he  must  look 
like  his  mother" ;  and  he  nodded  to  the  boy. 

"Nay,"  replied  Van  Sweringen,  his  eyes  grown  a  little 
grave.  "I  have  but  one  child— the  girl  ye  vowed  was 
named  for  your  Aunt  Dolly." 

"Well,  there  's  no  drawback  to  a  girl,"  said  the  gov- 
ernor, heartily.  "It  does  a  man's  heart  good  to  see  them. 
Who  is  the  boy,  then  ?    Your  nephew  ? ' ' 

"Nay;  neither  kith  nor  kin.  He  is  but  a  runaway 
apprentice  whom  I  have  come  to  return." 

The  governor  looked  at  Barnaby.  "A  runaway  ap- 
prentice ? ' ' 

' '  Yes, ' '  said  Van  Sweringen.  '  *  The  cabin-boy  of  t, 
coaster.  He  ran  away  from  his  master's  vessel  about  the 
1st  of  April,  while  she  lay  in  the  North  River  beyond 
New  Amsterdam." 

The  governor  stared  at  Barnaby.  "Well,  upon  my 
word  of  honor, ' '  he  said,  in  accents  of  surprise,  ' '  that  's 
an  odd  quality  for  a  cabin-boy.  I  thought  he  was  your 
son.    Why,  he  has  quite  the  look  of  a  gentleman ! ' ' 

"That  is  true,"  rejoined  Van  Sweringen,  "and  if  the 
boy  is  to  be  believed,  his  father  was  a  gentleman,  a  gentle- 
man and  a  soldier,  by  the  name  of  Lee — Henry  Lee." 

"That  's  a  decent  name,"  said  the  governor,  staring 
at  Barnaby,  * '  a  very  decent  name ;  and  that  's  a  very  odd 
quality  for  a  cabin-boy. ' '  Then  he  knitted  his  brow  with 
a  puzzled  frown.  "Lee?"  he  said,  "Henry  Lee?  It 
seems  to  me  as  if— ' '  Then  he  stopped.  *  *  Oh,  pshaw ! ' ' 
he  cried  impatiently,  "I  never  can  remember  a  name,  or 


The  Governor  of  Maryland     173 

where  it  belongs  when  I  do;  but  it  seems  to  me  I  have 
cause  for  remembering  that  same  name,  Henry  Lee! 
A  runaway  apprentice,  ye  say?  The  cabin-boy  of  a 
coasting-trader?  And  a  gentleman's  son?  Come,  I  '11 
look  into  this :  it  strikes  me  that  it  looks  like  a  mare 's  nest. 
But  let  's  be  off  to  dinner;  I  am  hungry  as  a  bear!" 
And  they  all  went  up  to  the  governor's  house. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

"l   DO   NOT   LIKE   COUSIN   PHILIP " 

THE  dinner-hour  was  over  and  gone;  it  was  late  in 
the  afternoon.  Bamaby  was  sitting  on  the  gov- 
ernor's porch,  leaning  back  against  a  post,  with  his  head 
among  the  rose-vines. 

The  country-side,  with  its  orchards  and  fields,  small 
thatched  cottages,  roses  and  marjoram,  looked  like  the 
vale  of  Quarrendon.  He  heaved  a  dreary  sigh  at  the 
thought.  What  would  become  of  him  ?  The  English  had 
refused  to  receive  him,  now  that  he  had  been  brought 
back,  and  the  Dutch  had  but  used  him  to  play  out  their 
game,  as  if  he  were  a  pawn  on  a  chess-board. 

Out  of  the  parlor  behind  him  floated  the  notes  of  a 
viola  d'amore;  and  now  and  then  a  heavier  string 
strummed  a  deeper  harmony.  A  man  was  singing  a  song. 
Then  followed  a  laugh  and  the  voice  of  Charles  Calvert 
saying:  "Why,  sure.  Van  Swerrington,  had  ye  never 
heard  it  before  ?  'T  is  a  sweet  thing  for  a  barytone ;  is 
it  not,  dear  heart  ? ' ' 

"Ay,"  replied  a  woman's  voice.  "But  I  like  thine 
own  songs  better. ' ' 

"Now,  there,"  said  the  governor,  laughing,  "that  is 

174 


"I  Do  Not  Like  Cousin  Philip"  175 

the  woman  of  it:  she  knows  that  I  made  them  for  her 
sake,  and  she  likes  them  best  of  all." 

With  his  arm  around  his  wife's  slim  waist,  Master 
Charles  Calvert  came  out  on  the  porch. 

"Art  tired,  dearest?"  she  asked,  and  put  her  slender 
hand  up  to  his  dark  cheek. 

"Ay,"  said  Calvert,  "very  tired.  I  have  been  much 
annoyed  all  day." 

She  then  perceived  Bamaby,  and  lowered  her  tone  a 
little.    "Is  this  the  lad  thou  wast  speaking  of,  Caro?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  governor. 

"Why  should  ye  not  have  kept  him,  Caro!  He  is  a 
very  pretty  boy. ' ' 

"Philip  would  not  have  it.  The  boy  must  needs  go 
back  to  the  Dutch." 

Bamaby  felt  rather  choky:  the  country  was  so  much 
like  England;  and  the  governor's  frank,  boyish  smile 
had  made  the  boy  remember  his  father's  face. 

"Why  dost  let  Cousin  Philip  so  override  thee,  Caro?" 
asked  the  governor's  wife,  with  a  little  touch  of  impa- 
tience in  her  voice. 

"Philip  does  not  override  me  much,"  he  answered, 
with  a  grave  smile. 

* '  He  hath  his  own  way  of  it,  Caro,  whenever  there  is  a 
question. ' ' 

"We  are  a  deal  indebted  to  Cousin  Philip,  dear  heart. 
Thou  knowest  our  family  owes  him  much  in  things  that 
are  past  amending." 

"But  that  is  no  reason  why  a  rogue  should  have  his 


^7"  Barnaby  Lee> 

way  forever.  I  neither  like  nor  trust  him,  though  he  be 
of  your  family.  The  man  hath  grown  too  suddenly  rich : 
his  property  doth  equal  thine.  They  told  me  in  Virginia 
that  he  had  bought  him  a  title,  and  would  set  himself  up 
for  a  baron  as  soon  as  he  had  the  chance. ' ' 

The  governor  frowned  a  little.  "They  say  a  great  deal 
in  Virginia,  dear  heart;  and  thou  shouldst  not  give  cre- 
dence to  all  that  thou  hearest.  Thou  dost  not  Cousin 
Philip  justice." 

"Caro,  I  do  not  like  Cousin  Philip.  I  have  never 
liked  him,  nor  trusted  him,  though  I  have  no  reason  for 
it.  A  woman,  as  thou  knowest,  likes  without  reason, 
and  dislikes  without  apparent  cause;  and  I  do  not 
like  Philip  Calvert;  nor  is  it  from  what  I  have  heard 
men  say." 

*  *  Dear  heart, ' '  said  Governor  Calvert,  gravely,  ' '  what- 
ever be  his  faults,  and  I  do  not  deny  that  he  has  them, 
nor  are  they  all  gentleman-like,  my  cousin  is  still  a  Cal- 
vert, and  there  is  honor  in  the  name.  Do  Philip  justice, 
and  throw  aside  prejudice;  thou  canst  at  least  believe 
him  an  honest  man. ' ' 

"Caro,"  answered  his  wife,  tenderly,  "thou  dost  be- 
lieve all  men  like  thyself ;  thou  art  far  too  honest  to  know 
a  rogue  an  thou  mettest  him  face  to  face  in  the  road.  If 
he  put  a  pistol  to  thine  head,  thou  wouldst  pity  him  for 
demented ;  did  he  take  thy  money  from  thee,  thou  wouldst 
think  thou  hadst  owed  it  him.  Thou  art  no  fool.  Nay, 
nay.  Yet  I  sometimes  think  thee  foolish  to  blind  thy  good 
judgment  for  charity 's  sake.    And,  Caro,  I  pity  that  slim, 


"I  Do  Not  Like  Cousin  Philip"  177 

pretty  boy;  he  hath  such  a  fine,  sweet  face;  why  thou 
shouldst  not  keep  him  is  more  than  I  can  see." 

"Philip  will  not  have  it,  and  will  not  pay  the  costs. 
And  it  is  too  small  a  matter  on  which  to  begin  a  family 
quarrel.  So  far  as  the  boy's  appearance  goes,  there  is 
something  odd  about  it.  And  as  for  the  lad  himself, 
there  's  a  touch  of  mystery.  He  claims  to  be  a  gentle- 
man's son,  Van  Sweringen  tells  me,  and  says  that  his 
father's  name  was  Lee,  a  captain  with  the  king,  that  he 
had  an  estate,  was  gently  reared,  was  taught  to  read,  to 
ride,  and  to  fence ;  Van  Swerrington  hath  tried  him,  and 
says  the  lad  doth  indeed  fence  well,  in  both  French  and 
Italian  fashion.  Yet  here  he  was,  cabin-boy  aboard  a 
dirty  trading-coaster,  and  had  been  such  for  four  years 
past.  I  am  going  to  look  into  the  matter :  a  cabin-boy 's 
berth  on  a  trading-coaster  is  no  place  for  a  gentleman's 
son." 

Beyond  the  house  of  the  governor  stood  a  little  chapel 
built  of  brick.  Ivy  climbed  about  its  roof,  and  the  door 
was  wreathed  with  rose- vines.  Beyond  the  chapel  a  brook 
ran  down  to  the  inlet  through  a  glen  shaded  by  holly- 
trees,  elms,  and  sycamores.  In  the  mouth  of  the  glen 
stood  the  colony  mill.  Its  deeply  rumbling  hum  arose 
through  the  quiet  of  the  departing  day  like  the  buzz  of 
a  giant  beehive.  The  cows  were  lowing  in  the  pastures, 
and  the  plaintive  sheep  bleated  at  the  gates  of  the  fold. 
Somewhere  down  the  road  a  boy  went  whistling  merrily. 
It  was  all  so  much  like  England  that  it  made  Bamaby's 
heart  ache.    A  tear  ran  swiftly  down  his  cheek. 


178  Barnaby  Lee 

"Art  troubled,  lad?"  asked  the  governor's  wife,  spy- 
ing his  woeful  face. 

"Nay,  lady,"  replied  Barnaby;  "I  be  only  a-think- 
ing." 

They  turned  and  went  into  the  house.  "Caro,"  she 
said,  "  't  is  a  handsome  boy.  He  hath  a  lovely  face,  and 
the  quiver  of  his  lip  would  touch  the  hardest  heart.  I  am 
sure  there  are  underhand  doings  here :  I  beg  thee  look 
into  it,  Caro!" 

*  *  I  shall  see  to  the  case  to-morrow, ' '  said  the  governor, 
earnestly.  "It  is  unmeet  that  a  gentleman's  son  should 
be  left  in  such  sad  plight." 

"I  shall  see  to  this  case  to-morrow,"  said  he;  and  no 
doubt  he  meant  to  do  so.  But  as  they  sat  at  supper  that 
night.  Mynheer  Van  Sweringen,  knowing  naught  of  the 
governor's  plans  regarding  Barnaby  Lee,  and  caring, 
perhaps,  for  nobody's  plans  or  intentions  save  his  own, 
led  the  aimless  conversation  with  such  inimitable  wit  and 
such  admirable  discretion  that,  before  the  governor  was 
aware  how  far  the  ambassador's  tongue  had  led  him,  he 
was  involved  in  a  hot  discussion  of  the  boundary-line 
dispute  between  Maryland  and  New  Netherland,  without 
in  the  least  suspecting  the  ambassador's  design;  and, 
furthermore,  by  his  own  proposal  was  engaged  to  debate 
the  question  before  the  Maryland  Council,  which  was  to 
meet  upon  the  morrow. 

Deeply  chagrined,  for  the  instant,  that  he  should  have 
been  so  led,  as  well  as  busy  with  preparation  for  his  argu- 
ment in  the  case,  the  governor  quite  forgot  the  cabin-boy 


"a  hush  fell  upon  the  table,  the  governor's  smile  died  out, 
and  his  laughing  face  grew  grave." 


"I  Do  Not  Like  Cousin  Philip"  179 

"That  ye  prefer  New  Netherland  is  no  compliment 
to  vs,"  he  said  to  the  Dutch  envoy.  "I  had  esteemed 
myself  much  more  your  kind  than  General  Peter  Stuy- 
vesant.  He  is  a  headstrong  man,  Mynheer  Van  Swer- 
rington,  both  passionate  and  violent.  Sure,  he  knocked 
out  Captain  Temperance  Stevens's  two  front  teeth  with 
a  cudgel.  Nay,  now,  don't  frown;  that  was  no  great 
fault :  it  was  but  evidence  of  his  surprisingly  good  judg- 
ment as  well  as  of  his  exceedingly  bad  temper.  But  he 
is  a  dour  and  bitter  man,  Mynheer  Van  Swerrington,  and 
hath  worn  my  patience  all  to  galloons  on  this  boundary- 
line  dispute.  He  is  no  more  to  be  moved  by  an  argument 
than  if  he  were  the  Alps. ' ' 

"That  is  just  what  he  saith  of  your  Excellency,"  re- 
plied Van  Sweringen,  smiling. 

"Ay,  man;  but,  faith,  his  side  is  wrong,  and  mine  is 
right,"  said  the  governor,  a  little  sharply. 

"Nay,  but  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  responded  the 
envoy,  quietly.  " 'T  is  a  very  debatable  question."  A 
little  flush  went  up  his  cheek,  but  his  air  was  calmness 
itself. 

* '  But,  mjrnheer, ' '  said  the  governor,  testily,  "  't  is  as 
plain  as  the  nose  on  your  face.  No  offense  to  the  nose ; 
't  is  a  very  good  nose !  But  our  grant  extends  northward 
to  forty  degrees,  to  just  where  New  England's  claim 
leaves  off." 

"Indeed?  Is  that  so?"  said  Van  Sweringen,  and  his 
eyes  began  to  glow.  "Then,  pray,  your  Excellency,  if 
New  England 's  claim  endeth  at  forty  degrees,  and  yours 


I  8o  Barnaby  Lee 

beginneth  straightway,  where  does  New  Netherland  come 
in  on  your  map  1 ' '  For  New  Netherland  lay  between  the 
two  like  the  core  betwixt  the  halves  of  an  apple. 

"The  saints  preserve  me  if  I  know,"  said  Master 
Charles  Calvert,  dryly.  ' '  I  must  leave  that  for  ye  to  find 
out  for  yourselves." 

' '  And  that,  your  Excellency, ' '  replied  Van  Sweringen, 
steadily,  "is  just  what  I  have  come  hither  to  do."  He 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  as  he  spoke,  and  carelessly  toyed 
with  his  wine-glass. 

A  hush  fell  upon  the  table.  The  governor's  smile  died 
out,  and  his  laughing  face  grew  grave.  ' '  God  rest  us, "  he 
said  wearily,  "are  we  never  to  be  at  peace?  I  am  tired 
of  war  and  of  quarrels.  Need  men  ever  to  be  at  swords' 
points  ?  Nay ;  put  it  off  till  to-morrow,  and  let  us  sup  in 
peace!  Put  it  off  till  to-morrow,  and  we  will  debate  it 
in  the  Council.  Let  us  just  be  good  friends  for  to-night ! 
Here,  Burke,  fill  the  gentleman's  glass;  fill  them  up  all 
around  the  table.  We  will  be  good  friends  to-night, 
though  enemies  to-morrow!" 

The  last  remark  was  half  in  jest;  but,  alas  for  human 
jesting ! 

"To-morrow,"  we  say,  "we  shall  do  thus  and  so." 
But  the  old  hag.  Fortune,  throws  the  dice,  and  by  the 
simple  twist  of  her  fickle  finger  alters  the  destiny  of  the 
world. 

"To-morrow,"  said  Charles  Calvert,  "we  shall  argue 
this  boundary  question.  Sure,  the  very  thought  of  a 
boundary-line  is  enough  to  give  one  bad  dreams ! ' ' 


"I  Do  Not  Like  Cousin  Philip"  igi 

The  whole  table  laughed  at  the  face  he  pulled,  for  it 
was  an  exceedingly  wry  one.  Which  was  not  the  first 
time  that  men  have  laughed  in  the  gathering  shadows  of 
coming  events. 

To-morrow  and  to-morrow!  I  will  do  this  thing  to- 
morrow! Oh,  for  the  intentions  that  go  down  with  the 
setting  sun!  The  guests  dispersed  about  their  business 
with  placid  minds,  not  dreaming  how  strange  the  world 
would  seem  before  the  morrow  evening. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  END   OP   THE   EMBASSY 

AY,  't  was  a  very  good  embassy, ' '  said  Captain  Martin 
XA-Kregier,  "until  that  firebrand  envoy  went  off  like  a 
keg  of  powder.    Sit;  I  '11  tell  thee  how  it  was. 

"We  had  all  marched  up  to  the  council-house  in  very 
nice  array.  I  had  put  on  my  Spanish  breastplate  and 
burnished  my  old  steel  cap.  The  sun  was  out,  and  it  was 
exceedingly  hot.  The  cows  stood  in  the  shadows,  and 
along  the  low  hills  I  could  see  the  wheat  shimmer. 

"The  Maryland  gentlemen  were  sitting  upon  the  as- 
sembly-house porch,  smoking,  as  we  came  up.  Their  wigs 
were  off,  and  they  were  taking  life  easy.  There  was  a 
footman  going  about  with  a  flask,  filling  up  their  glasses. 
He  had  on  a  coat  of  fine  blue  camlet,  with  the  Baltimore 
arms  embroidered  in  silver  on  the  sleeve.  Augustine 
Heermans  was  there.  He  was  a  member  of  the  Council, 
had  a  private  deer  park,  and  could  talk  six  languages; 
but  that  did  not  make  him  proud.  I  knew  him  in  New 
Amsterdam — a  plain,  honest  fellow.  He  came  down  the 
steps  to  meet  me,  took  me  by  the  hand,  went  up  with  us 
to  the  porch,  and  introduced  us  all  around. 

"There  was  a  heap  of  pretty  captains  and  of  majors, — 
aristocrats,  the  whole  lot,— and  all  dressed  handsomely  in 

1S2 


The  End  of  the  Embassy     183 

merry -colored  plush  coats  and  silver-buckled  waistcoats. 
Those  Maryland  gentlemen  think  a  deal  of  themselves, 
and  hold  their  heads  high ;  but  they  met  us  well,  and  sa- 
luted us  with  courtesy. 

"Van  Sweringen  carried  himself  as  fair  as  any.  He 
had  on  a  coat  of  crimson  velvet  and  a  sash  of  crimson  silk, 
and  his  long  hair  was  gathered  back  with  a  bow  of 
crimson  ribbon.  I  never  saw  him  more  gallant,  or  more 
gay. 

* '  The  Governor  looked  like  a  prince.  His  hair  was  tied 
with  silver  ribbon;  his  coat  was  blue,  edged  with  silver, 
and  he  wore  two  pair  of  silk  stockings,  the  outer  ones 
white  and  the  inner  ones  red,  rolled  down  upon  the 
others.  His  shoes  were  black  with  scarlet  laces,  and  he 
wore  a  gold  locket  on  a  chain  around  his  neck. 

"There  was  one  fellow  making  a  mighty  spread  in  a 
suit  of  scarlet  velvet.  He  was  standing  behind  the  Gov- 
ernor when  we  came  up  on  the  porch.  As  soon  as  I  saw 
him  I  knew  him,  though  I  never  had  seen  his  face.  He 
was  the  man  I  had  seen  in  the  government  office,  but  he 
had  his  wig  on  now.  He  was  kin  to  my  young  Lord 
Baltimore,  they  said,  and  was  Vice-Chancellor  of  Mary- 
land ;  but,  upon  my  word,  he  reminded  me  of  the  moldy 
smell  in  a  cellar.  He  had  an  underhung  jaw  like  a 
codfish,  and  a  look  in  his  eye  like  a  magpie  that  has 
stolen  a  marrow-bone  out  of  a  kitchen  and  can't  find  a 
place  to  hide  it.  He  sneaked  around  with  his  shoulders 
drooped  and  his  squinted  eyes  peering  and  peeping,  until 
I  longed  to  give  him  a  buffet  and  see  him  measure  his 


1 84  Barnaby  Lee 

length  on  the  floor.  But  he  was  the  Governor's  kinsman, 
so  I  waited  to  meet  him  anon. 

'  *  The  Assembly  convened  with  a  ruffle  of  drums.  I  be- 
lieve there  was  only  one  drummer;  but  the  fellow  beat 
as  if  his  life  depended  on  the  racket,  and  the  hounds  that 
were  lying  asleep  in  the  grass  set  up  such  a  woeful  howl- 
ing thereat  that  we  all  marched  into  the  council-hall  as 
deaf  as  a  musket-butt. 

* '  The  floor  of  the  council-hall  was  brick,  and  the  seata 
were  oaken  benches.  At  one  side  was  a  long  oak  table, 
where  the  Governor  and  the  Vice-Chaneellor  sat  with  the 
Colonial  Secretary.  There  was  a  small  round  table  near 
them  for  the  clerk  of  the  Assembly,  and  before  them  an 
open  space  of  floor  where  the  advocates  made  their  pleas. 
Mynheer  Van  Sweringen  sat  to  the  left  with  Tierck  Van 
Ruyn  at  a  little  desk,  and  Albert  and  I  sat  on  a  bench 
that  was  over  by  the  window. 

"The  Assembly  clerk  opened  the  conference  with  a 
long  string  of  Latin.  I  studied  Latin  at  the  school,  and 
know  it  when  I  hear  it.  Then  my  young  Lord  Baltimore 
began  the  argument.  I  listened;  but,  prut!  for  all  I 
knew,  it  might  as  well  have  been  Greek.  Had  they  talked 
of  siege  or  of  escalade  I  might  have  understood  them; 
when  it  comes  to  statecraft  I  know  nothing.  I  felt  I  was 
nigh  on  to  roasting;  the  sweat  ran  down  my  face;  but 
Mynheer  Van  Sweringen  looked  as  cool  as  a  pocketful  of 
snowballs.  He  was  a  match  for  any  and  all  of  them.  His 
tongue  was  as  sharp  as  a  dagger !  He  turned  their  argu- 
ments inside  out  as  a  man  would  turn  his  pocket. 


The  End  of  the  Embassy     i8c 

"I  thought  the  argument  never  would  end.  The  after- 
noon ran  on,  and  the  hot  air  from  the  road  crept  in  and 
out  at  the  open  window.  The  wind  was  in  the  southeast, 
^hat  little  wind  there  was,  which  was  hardly  enough  to 
stir  the  grass.    I  could  see  the  river  shining. 

"Now  and  then  the  Vice-Chancellor  put  in  a  word  or 
two ;  but  Van  Sweringen  doubled  him  up  so  quickly  with 
some  rapier-keen  retort,  that  at  last  he  only  sat  peering 
about  and  twisting  his  hands  together,  and  looking  as  if 
he  wished  that  he  were  ten  thousand  miles  away, 

"I  wished,  myself,  that  I  had  left  my  Spanish  breast- 
plate in  the  ship's  cabin,  for  I  was  as  hot  as  a  bowl  of 
soup.  Then  some  of  the  Maryland  gentlemen  began  to 
nid-nid-nod,  and  the  doorkeeper  was  fast  asleep. 

"At  last  the  Governor  looked  up  from  the  papers 
spread  before  him,  and  'Mynheer  Van  Swerrington, ' 
said  he,  'we  shall  have  to  leave  the  rest  of  this  to  be  settled 
by  our  superiors.  I  have  no  authority  to  venture  further.  * 

*'  'Very  well,'  replied  Van  Sweringen,  and  began  to 
gather  his  papers.  'Then  we  are  both  to  keep  to  our 
boundaries,  and  there  will  be  no  invasions  ? ' 

"  'That  is  precisely  the  meaning  I  wish  to  convey,' 
said  the  Governor.  'There  shall  be  no  invasions— on  our 
part.    That  much  I  can  promise.' 

' '  I  saw  Van  Sweringen  wet  his  lips.  '  That  is  all  I  have 
sought,'  he  said.  But  I  could  see  his  dark  eyes  shine. 
They  looked  hot  and  dry ;  and,  somehow,  though  he  had 
won  his  point,  there  was  a  set  look  on  his  face  as  though 
they  had  worn  his  patience  out  with  their  fol-de-riddle- 


I  86  Barnaby  Lee 

de-rols.  His  lips  were  compressed,  and  his  brows  drawn, 
and  there  was  a  tense,  brimstony  air  about  him  that 
would  have  made  the  wildest  blade  think  thrice  ere  he 
ventured  to  cross  him. 

' '  The  Governor  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  stretching  out 
his  feet  before  him,  and  'Well,  Mynheer  Van  Swerring- 
ton,'  said  he,  with  his  boyish  smile,  'you  are  a  shrewd 
ambassador;  upon  my  soul  ye  are.  I  would  rather  ye 
stood  with  us  than  against  us  any  day.' 

"Mynheer  Van  Sweringen  bowed,  and  'Merci,m'sieu' !' 
he  said  dryly. 

"  'Why  not  come  down  here  and  join  us,  and  leave  that 
pack  of  traders  ?  Why,  sure,  I  've  a  sheriff 's  office,  man, 
that  's  fairly  whooping  for  ye  to  fill  it.' 

' '  Mynheer  Van  Sweringen  lifted  his  head  with  a  little 
haughty  jerk.  'Your  Excellency  forgets,'  said  he,  'that 
I  was  born  a  Dutchman.'  'Fine!'  said  I  to  myself. 
*Ach,  prut!  but  that  was  a  good  reply.  I  should  like  to 
make  replies  like  that ! '    Ah-h,  he  was  a  brainy  fellow ! 

' '  The  Governor  looked  up  at  him  frankly.  '  Now,  true, ' 
said  he ;  '  that  is  so.  And  ye  would  not  sell  your  birth- 
right for  all  our  English  pottage?  Well,  I  like  ye  the 
better  for  it ;  upon  my  soul  I  do ! ' 

"Then  they  took  another  turn  on  diplomatic  mat- 
ters. I  was  not  made  for  a  diplomat,  I  just  looked  out  at 
the  window.  I  was  very  well  satisfied  indeed  with  the 
way  things  were  going  for  us. 

' '  Then,  all  at  once,  there  came  an  odd  hush.  I  felt  my 
hair  stand  up.    'Your  Excellency,  these  are  very  strange 


The  End  of  the  Embassy     187 

words,'  I  heard  Van  Sweringen  saying.  I  turned  to  the 
room.  I  could  just  hear  what  he  said,  for  his  voice  was 
strangely  lowered.  *  Your  Excellency, '  said  he,  '  these  are 
singular  words  indeed!  I  do  not  know  how  to  take 
them. ' 

"  'Ye  may  take  them  as  ye  please,  mynheer,'  said  Mas- 
ter Charles  Calvert,  simply;  and,  upon  my  soul,  I  think 
he  meant  but  fair  interpretation  of  whatever  it  was  he 
had  said. 

"But  Mynheer  Van  Sweringen 's  face  turned  white.  I 
had  seen  it  turn  so  before.  'Are  you  aware  of  their  bear- 
ing ? '  said  he  to  the  Governor,  drawing  himself  up  slowly 
like  a  soldier  on  parade. 

"  'Quite  aware,'  said  the  Governor. 

"  'Then  thou  liest!'  said  Van  Sweringen. 

"I  will  say  this  much  for  the  Governor:  though  his 
face  went  pale  as  death,  't  was  from  concern,  and  not 
from  fear.    Then  all  at  once  he  flushed  blood-red. 

"  'Mynheer,  unsay  that!'  he  cried,  and  put  out  his 
hands  in  a  boyish  way.    '  Oh,  I  beg  of  ye,  unsay  that !  * 

"  'Wilt  thou  unsay  what  thou  hast  said?' 

"  'Nay,  man;  the  thing  is  true.' 

'  *  *  Then  I  have  said  what  I  have  said ;  and  there  is  no 
unsaying  it,'  said  Van  Sweringen.  And  with  that  on  a 
sudden  his  face  blazed  crimson  as  if  it  had  burst  in  flame. 
'And  this,'  said  he,  'that  thou  hast  twice  spoken  dis- 
honor to  my  lords ! ' 

' '  There  came  a  crack  like  a  pistol-shot,  and  a  quick  cry 
in  the  room,    '  Ods-nails ! '  I  cried,  and  sprang  to  my  feet 


1 88  Barnaby  Lee 

and  ran  to  where  Van  Sweringen  was  standing.  For, 
as  Master  Charles  Calvert  stood  there  like  a  school-boy 
at  the  form,  his  hands  outstretched  before  him,  seeking 
reconciliation,  that  hot-headed  envoy,  flaring  up  like  a 
pan  of  pistol-powder,  had  struck  him  twice  across  the  face 
with  the  ends  of  his  doeskin  gloves. 

"I  never  knew  what  had  angered  him  so.  What  with 
the  flurry  then,  and  all  that  followed  after  it,  my  head 
was  in  a  whirl.  It  was  enough  for  me,  just  then,  to  know 
that  he  had  struck  the  Governor. 

"I  saw  the  lean  Vice-Chancellor  fall  backward  out  of 
his  chair,  and  the  gentlemen  come  running  up  from  the 
other  parts  of  the  hall.  The  Governor  was  standing  with 
his  hands  outstretched.  His  face  was  white  as  a  sheet; 
he  look  dazed. 

"  'Mynheer,  why  did  ye  strike  me?'  he  cried,  dropping 
his  outstretched  hands  at  his  side  with  a  gesture  of  de- 
spair. *I  sought  no  quarrel  with  ye.  I  only  meant  to 
warn  ye.  I  sought  no  quarrel  with  ye;  why,  I  love  ye 
well!' 

*  *  With  that  he  lifted  his  hand  and  felt  his  cheek  where 
the  marks  of  the  glove  could  still  be  seen.  '  But  this  hath 
passed  the  bounds  of  love, '  he  cried  out  pathetically, '  and 
leaves  nothing  more  but  the  murdering ! ' 

' '  Van  Sweringen  made  no  reply ;  but  I  could  see  he  was 
deeply  moved;  for,  on  my  soul,  those  two  young  fools 
loved  each  other.  Van  Sweringen 's  eyes  grew  soft,  and 
the  Governor's  mouth  puckered  up  as  if  it  were  full  of 
trouble.     The  gentlemen  had  gathered  close  about  the 


The  End  of  the  Embassy     189 

Vice-Chancellor,  and  were  eying  us  pretty  fiercely.  I 
stared  back  at  them,  look  for  look,  and  'Mynheer,'  said 
I,  softly  touching  Van  Sweringen  's  elbow,  '  yonder  scarlet 
velvet  rogue  sits  heavily  on  my  conscience!'  but  he  laid 
his  hand  upon  mine,  and  said  in  a  very  low  voice,  'Be 
still.' 

"Then  the  Governor  looked  around  him  with  a  rueful 
smile.  'What  must  be,  must,  I  suppose,'  he  said,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders.  Then  he  went  to  a  writing-desk 
under  the  window,  took  a  sheet  of  paper  from  a  pigeon- 
hole, and  wrote  his  cartel  with  a  long,  white  quill,  while 
we  stood  there  and  watched. 

"When  he  finished,  he  turned  to  one  of  the  gentlemen, 
a  Master  Thomas  Nottly,  a  fine,  tall  man  in  a  dark-blue 
coat,  and  handing  the  cartel  to  him,  'Tom,'  said  he,  'will 
ye  be  so  good  as  to  second  me  in  this  matter?' 

"  'Why,  sure,'  said  Master  Nottly.  'It  will  be  the 
sweetest  pleasure.'  And  with  that  he  came  across  the 
room  and  handed  the  paper  to  me,  Mynheer  Van  Swerin- 
gen quietly  bowing. 

"Now,  I  am  no  hand  at  any  English  excepting  the  kind 
in  the  copy-book;  so  I  said,  'Mynheer  Van  Sweringen, 
please  read  this  out  to  me !  * 

"He  took  the  challenge  out  of  my  hand,  and  read  it 
softly  aloud.  We  were  to  meet  upon  the  morrow,  at 
daybreak,  at  a  place  by  a  wall  in  the  meadow,  and  the 
weapons  were  to  be  small  swords,  as  is  proper;  for  it 
surely  is  no  gentleman's  trick  to  blow  holes  in  a  man  with 
a  hand-gun. 


IQO  Barnaby  Lee 

"I  thought  that  perhaps  some  of  them  might  laugh  be- 
cause I  could  not  read  English,  and  so  I  kept  my  eye  on 
them;  but  they  all  looked  grave  enough.  There  was  a 
man  among  them  named  Simeon  Drew.  I  believe  he  was 
an  advocate ;  at  any  rate,  he  was  an  odd  conceit.  *  What  's 
this  1 '  said  he.  '  A  duel  1  "Why,  here,  this  is  a  scandal ! 
Put  the  rascals  in  the  jail ! ' 

' '  '  Master  Drew, '  said  the  Governor,  *  it  is  very  evident 
that  there  are  some  things  in  courtesy  which  you  do  not 
understand. ' 

"  'Understand?'  said  Master  Drew.  *I  understand 
enough,  your  Excellency.  Men's  skins  are  not  made  for 
buttonholes.     'T  is  cursed  nonsense.' 

"  'Would  ye  please  me.  Master  Drew?' 

"  '  I  have  ever  done  so, '  said  Drew. 

"  'Then  say  no  more  about  buttonholes;  we  are  not  a 
pair  of  tailors.  Where  's  Cousin  Philip  ? '  he  asked  sud- 
denly. 

"  'Here  he  is,'  replied  one  of  the  gentlemen.  'Why, 
nay,  bless  my  soul !  He  's  gone.  Why,  he  was  here  only 
a  moment  since,  standing  at  my  elbow.  How  the  dickens 
could  he  go?     I  had  my  hand  on  him.' 

"But  he  was  gone  from  the  room,  though  no  one  had 
seen  him  go.  'He  seems  to  be  cultivating  a  knack  for 
surprising  disappearances,'  said  another  one  of  the  gen- 
tlemen, a  Master  Baker  Brooke,  '  'T  is  the  third  time  to- 
day I  have  wanted  him  and  found  him  suddenly  gone, 
vanished  as  utterly  and  completely  as  if  he  had  been  a 
ghost. ' 


The  End  of  the  Embassy     19' 


"But  just  then  the  bell  at  the  Governor's  house  began 
to  ring  for  supper.  The  discussion  ceased;  we  all  fell 
into  line,  and  marched  up  to  the  Governor's  mansion. 
He  would  not  hear  to  a  word  of  our  supping  otherwhere. 
And  I  had  such  an  appetite  from  sitting  still  so  long  that 
I  clean  forgot  the  Vice-Chancellor  in  thinking  of  what  I 
should  eat. 

*'As  we  passed  the  custom-office,  our  skipper  came  out 
at  the  door.  'Mynheer,'  said  he,  *we  are  ready  to  sail 
whenever  ye  come  aboard.' 

*  *  '  Very  good, '  replied  Mynheer  Van  Sweringen.  *  We 
will  come  aboard  in  the  morning.  Hast  fresh  filled  the 
water-butts  ? ' 

"  'Ja,'  rejoined  the  skipper. 

"  'It  is  well,'  said  Van  Sweringen,  quietly.  'I  hate  my 
drinking  foul.' 

"I  could  but  admire  his  placid  bearing  in  the  face  of 
all  that  was  before  us. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXIV 


IN  THE  SPRING-HOUSE 


MEANWHILE  Barnaby,  knowing  nothing  of  what 
had  come  to  pass  in  the  Council,  sat  at  the  rear  of 
the  Governor's  house,  watching  the  serving-men  fetch  up 
the  supper  from  the  kitchen  to  the  hall. 

Above  his  head  red  and  green  parrakeets  whirled  to 
and  fro  among  the  sycamores,  filling  the  air  with  their 
unmusical  screams,  and  about  the  doors  of  the  kitchen 
spotted  foxhounds  wagged  their  tails  and  whined  their 
hungry  petitions  at  the  servants'  heels. 

The  housekeeper  came  to  the  hall  door.  ' '  Hullo,  there, 
you  boy, ' '  she  said ;  '  *  have  ye  eaten  your  fill,  that  ye  sit 
so  quiet?" 

"I  have  not  eaten  at  all,"  said  he. 

"Then  you  'd  better  be  eating,"  she  said.  "Here, 
Molly !  Molly,  I  say !  Molly  Hawley ! ' ' 

A  maid  came  out  of  the  kitchen  door  and  hurried 
through  the  square.  She  was  a  sturdy  girl  with  coarse 
black  hair  and  bright-red  cheeks  and  lips,  and  walked 
with  a  free  stride,  her  hands  swinging. 

"Molly,"  said  the  housekeeper,  "take  this  lad  to  the 
milk-house  and  feed  him.    Don't  leave  a  cavity." 

192 


In  the  Spring-house  193 

"We  'm  got  no  cavity,  mum,"  replied  Molly.  "I  '11 
give  him  a  bowl  of  bread  and  milk.  Here,  you  boy,  just 
come  wi '  me ! ' '  and  she  beckoned  to  Barnaby. 

Barnaby  rose  and  followed  her  across  the  square  in- 
closed by  the  buildings,  passing  the  servants'  quarters, 
and  pausing  at  the  kitchen.  Then,  with  a  yellow  bowl  un- 
der her  arm,  and  her  apron  caught  up  like  a  bag  in  her 
hand,  the  girl  beckoned  him  still  to  follow,  and  leaving 
the  quarters  behind  her,  entered  the  mouth  of  the  hollow 
that  ran  down  toward  the  river  under  the  sycamores. 

A  brook  ran  sparkling  down  the  glen,  and  at  the  top 
of  the  hollow  stood  the  milk-house,  with  its  mossy  roof 
of  dull  red  tiles  and  a  door  with  a  wooden  latch.  From 
under  the  sill  of  the  milk-house  door  the  brook  emerged  to 
the  light  of  day,  and  out  of  the  door  came  a  breath  of  air 
as  cool  as  the  draft  from  a  storage-house,  but  with  no  such 
odors  on  it.  The  maid  went  in,  and  Barnaby  followed. 
Part  of  the  house  was  paved  with  irregular  flat  stones, 
but  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  was  a  broad  pool,  from  the 
bottom  of  which  a  spring  gushed  with  never-ceasing 
little  fountains  of  sand.  In  the  pool  were  round  earthen- 
ware crocks,  covered  with  wooden  lids  scrubbed  until  they 
were  silvery  white.  The  crocks  held  milk  just  fresh  from 
the  milking.  On  a  shelf  by  the  wall  were  rolls  of  butter 
and  jugs  of  buttermilk,  and  on  a  bench  below  stood  a  row 
of  jars  full  of  honey  in  the  comb. 

The  maid  did  not  speak.  She  made  signs  to  him,  kicked 
out  a  three-legged  stool,  gave  him  a  honeycomb  in  a 
crock,  a  corn-cake  from  her  apron,  and  filled  her  yellow 


194  Barnaby  Lee 

bowl  with  milk,  with  fine  dexterity.  Then  she  set  it  on 
the  floor  by  his  side.  ' '  Eatum  and  drinkum ! ' '  she  said, 
and  made  a  pantomime,  that  he  might  understand. 

"Is  it  all  for  me?"  asked  Barnaby,  and  looked  up  at 
her  wonderingly. 

She  gave  a  little  scream.  "You  'm  English?"  she 
gasped. 

"  To  be  sure, ' '  said  Barnaby. 

"Well !  and  me  all  along  a-thinking  ye  a  young  Dutch 
muckle-head!  Bless  my  stars,  and  you  wi'  a  face  like 
that ! ' '  She  stood  and  stared  at  him.  *  *  Bless  my  stars  * 
and  garters,  lad,  but  you  'm  a  pretty  boy!  Dear  soul, 
those  two  blue  eyes  o'  thine  do  be  all  England.  I  ha* 
not  seen  their  like,  lad,  since  I  left  old  Weymouth-town, 
and  that  's  nigh  seven  year  agone.  God  bless  thy  pretty 
face!    Wilt  not  buss  us,  lad,  for  old  England's  sake?" 

And  with  that,  before  Barnaby  was  aware  what  the 
sturdy  maid  was  about,  she  clapped  a  hand  on  each  of  his 
shoulders,  and  kissed  him  fair  on  his  crumby  mouth,  and 
was  away  with  a  dribble  of  honey  and  corn-bread  on  her 
chin. 

"Get  out!"  said  Barnaby,  much  abashed,  and  waved 
the  corn-bread  at  her. 

But  Molly  stood  and  looked  at  him.  All  about  her 
figure,  as  she  stood  before  the  spring-house  door,  there 
was  a  shining  rim  of  light.  "Dear  soul !"  she  said,  after 
a  moment,  and  her  dark,  bright  eyes  were  shining  softly. 
"I  ha'  not  seen  a  face  like  thine  for  nigh  on  seven  year! 
Wilt  not  buss  us  again  ? ' ' 


In  the  Spring-house  195 

"Nay,  nay;  get  out,"  said  Bamaby,  "and  leave  me  eat 
in  peace,    I  do  not  like  this  bussing. ' ' 

She  laughed  softly.  "Some  folk  does,  and  some  folk 
don't.  It  all  depends  on  how  ye  take  it.  A  little,  taken 
sensible,  doth  sweeten  life  no  end.  It  is  a  gift  o'  nater, 
and  most  folk  comes  to  it  in  time,  sooner  or  later.  Lad, 
take  a  word  o '  Molly  Hawley :  't  is  better  soon  than  late ; 
one's  heart  grows  old  wi'  waiting  on  't."  Then  she 
clapped  him  on  the  shoulder.  "Meanwhile,  buss  me  or 
no,"  said  she,  "whatever  ye  wish,  while  ye  be  here,  ye 
just  ask  Molly  Hawley  for  it ;  bless  thine  heart,  shalt  have 
it,  for  that  fair  face  o'  thine.  There  was  a  lad  in  Wey- 
mouth-town  who  had  a  face  like  thine ;  but  that  was  seven 
year  agone,"  she  said,  looking  out  into  the  sunset  glow, 
"and  he  hath  forgotten  me.  Stick  to  thy  honey -bowl, 
lad,"  said  she,  "and  eat  thy  fill.  When  thou  'rt  done, 
set  crock  on  bench,  and  latch  door  behind  thee  tightly. 
There  be  a  pack  o'  foxhounds  here,  the  plague  o'  a  body's 
life.  Remember,  lad,  whate'er  ye  want,  just  ask  Molly 
Hawley  for  it." 

Then  away  went  Molly  Hawley,  srwinging  up  the  hill- 
side, humming  softly  to  herself  a  half-forgotten  tune 
that  she  had  heard  her  own  dear  lad  sing  in  the  fields  by 
Weymouth-town. 

It  now  was  fallen  evening,  and  the  cold  smell  from  the 
woods  crept  up  the  hollow  among  the  trees.  The  mill 
at  the  foot  of  the  glen  was  still,  and  the  only  sound  was 
the  watch-like  tinkling  of  the  water  dropping  from  the 
wheel  into  the  run  below.    Barnaby  gave  himself  to  his 


196  Barnaby  Lee 

eating  with  a  sigh  of  content.  The  faint  wind  outside 
came  up  from  the  inlet  with  a  thin,  cool  pattering  of 
leaves,  and  the  little  fountains  of  white  sand  played  in 
the  bottom  of  the  spring.  There  was  a  bitter  perfume 
in  the  air  from  fennel  crushed  under  foot  in  the  path, 
and  an  odor  like  sweet,  ripe  apples  stored  away  in  a  cool, 
dark  room. 

'  "T  is  brier-rose, ' '  said  Barnaby,  and  drew  a  long 
breath.  How  the  English  hills  came  back  to  him,  the 
pale,  cool  star-light,  the  summer  wind,  and  the  breath 
of  the  brier-roses !  He  sat  for  a  moment  thinking.  Then 
suddenly  he  put  the  milk-bowl  down,  and  sat  up,  listen- 
ing. Some  one,  not  very  far  away,  had  coughed,  a  sharp, 
nervous  cough.  After  it  came  a  sound  of  voices.  He 
stepped  to  the  door  and  looked  out. 

Two  men  with  their  heads  together  were  coming  up  the 
hollow,  talking  earnestly  in  low  tones.  He  could  not 
recognize  them,  nor  could  he  make  out  what  they  said. 
Coming  to  a  little  terrace  just  below  the  spring-house, 
they  paused  under  a  sycamore  with  a  trunk  like  a  castle- 
tower.  One  of  the  men  was  tall  and  spare,  and  held  him- 
self aloof,  though  speaking  in  a  shrill,  thin  voice  that 
shook  with  anger  and  nervous  excitement.  The  other  lis- 
tened, lowering,  with  his  chin  upon  his  breast,  as  though 
constrained  unwillingly  to  hear,  and  sulkily  kicked  about 
him  in  the  grass.  He,  too,  was  gaunt  and  tall,  but  his 
frame  in  build  and  hang  was  coarser  than  the  other's. 

"Don't  lay  all  the  blame  on  me,"  he  growled.  **You  'd 
*a'  done  just  the  same  as  I  did." 


In  the  Spring-house         197 

"You  said  he  was  dead." 

"Well,  I  thought  he  was  dead." 

"But  he  's  not  dead  at  all.    Oh,  dear!" 

"Well,  there  's  no  use  of  getting  so  wrought  up.  It  's 
most  confounded  woundy  luck.  That  's  all  there  is  to 
say  about  it. ' ' 

"Ye  can't  lay  it  all  to  the  luck.  Ye  've  shown  most 
condemnable  judgment. ' ' 

"Perhaps  ye  'd  like  to  take  a  try  with  somebody  else's 
judgment.  There  's  the  Governor.  He  'd  be  blithe  to 
furnish  ye  with  one. ' ' 

"Don't  mention  the  Governor,"  cried  the  other. 

"Well,  then,  don't  cavil  about  my  judgment." 

* '  But  I  would  n  't  'a '  had  the  knave  turn  up  for  forty 
thousand  joe ! ' ' 

"If  you  'd  'a'  paid  me  forty  joe,  he  'd  never  'a'  had 
the  chance." 

"I  ha'  paid  ye  four  time  forty  joe.  This  is  the  upshot 
of  it.    The  fat  is  in  the  fire, ' '  said  the  other,  bitterly. 

At  that  the  first  turned  with  an  angry  snarl.  "Well, 
don't  say  I  put  it  there.  Had  ye  let  me  do  as  I  wanted, 
you  'd  'a'  been  shut  of  him  long  ago.  Why  did  n't  ye 
leave  me  do  for  the  rogue,  snap  out,  for  good  and  allt" 

"No,  no,  no,"  cried  the  other,  an  incredible  number  of 
times.  "No,  no,  no,  I  say;  I  ha'  told  you  I  won't  have 
none  of  that." 

"Well,  you  're  a  precious,  fine-haired  fool,"  said  the 
first,  disgustedly.    "That  's  all  I  've  got  to  say  to  you." 

He  took  a  tinder-box  out  of  his  pocket,  and  striking  a 


198  Barnaby  Lee 

few  sharp  blows  with  a  flint,  ignited  some  tinder,  and 
lighted  his  pipe. 

As  the  first  sharp,  intermittent  puffs  sent  up  their  glow 
across  his  face,  Barnaby  gave  a  little  cry  and  sank  upon 
the  spring-house  floor. 

When,  in  after  years,  he  thought  of  that  face,  it  ever 
came  back  as  he  saw  it  there — its  bushy  brows,  evil  mouth, 
and  nose  hooked  like  a  parrot's  beak.  At  every  puff  it 
started  out  of  the  darkness,  crafty,  scowling,  truculent, 
with  the  countless  wrinkles  about  the  eye  which  long, 
keen  looking  over  the  sea  brings  to  the  face  of  a  mariner. 
Between  the  wrinkled,  squinting  lids,  the  shifting  eyes 
peered  sidewise  at  the  man  who  stood  beside  him,  with 
glances  as  wicked  and  baleful  as  a  serpent's.  Then  the 
face  faded  away  in  the  shadow  again, 

' '  I  am  lost ! ' '  gasped  Barnaby ;  for  the  face  was  Cap- 
tain John  King's. 

"Well,"  King  repeated  sulkily  to  the  man  who  stood 
beside  him,  "you  are  a  precious,  fine-haired  fool.  That's 
all  I  've  got  to  say  to  you." 

"I  don't  care  what  you  've  got  to  say,"  cried  the  other. 
"Ye  've  got  to  fetch  him  out  of  here.  What  's  that  ? "  he 
said  suddenly,  whirling  about  and  staring  up  at  the 
spring-house  door. 

' '  What  's  what  ? ' '  growled  King.  Then,  all  at  once,  he, 
too,  stared  up  at  the  spring-house.  "Who  's  there?"  he 
called.  There  was  no  reply.  The  door  of  the  spring-house 
faintly  creaked.  "I  say,  who  's  there?"  called  King, 
hoarsely,  laying  his  hand  on  his  pistol-butt.    * '  If  anybody 


In  the  Spring-house         199 

is  ki  that  spring-house  it  will  be  better  for  him  to  come 
out  of  there  before  I  come  to  fetch  him  out ! ' '  But  there 
was  not  a  sound.  "Oh,  pah!  you  've  got  the  fan-tods,'* 
said  he  to  his  companion.  "There  's  nobody  in  the 
spring-house.    What  did  ye  think  ye  saw  ? ' ' 

"I— eh— nothing,"  replied  the  other,  with  a  tremble 
in  his  voice. 

"I  should  n't  advise  ye  to  see  it  again.  It  don't  seem 
to  be  good  for  your  nerves. ' ' 

The  other  leaned  against  the  tree  and  nervously  loosed 
his  neck-cloth.  "I  have  not  been  a-sleeping  well,"  said 
he,  *  *  and  these  hot  days  give  me  the  quavers.  But  you  've 
got  to  get  him  out  of  here, ' '  he  continued,  almost  fiercely. 
"You  've  got  to  fetch  him  out  of  here  and  carry  him 
away,  where  I  shall  never  see  his  face  again,  nor  hear 
of  him  no  more. ' ' 

' '  Now,  don 't  get  high, ' '  said  King,  sullenly.  "  I  'm  not 
disposed  to  stand  it.  I  've  done  my  best;  and  that  's 
enough.  I  '11  fetch  him  out,  you  need  n't  fret;  you  '11 
never  see  him  again.  I  '11  take  him  so  far  from  here  that 
he  '11  not  even  see  the  rim  of  the  sky  that  hangs  over 
Maryland,  though  he  climb  to  the  mountain-tops.  Don't 
you  fret ;  I  '11  fetch  him  out.  But  come,  we  'd  better  be 
moving.  We  *ve  no  time  to  waste. ' '  And  the  two  slipped 
out  of  the  hollow. 

The  sky  grew  pale  and  apple-white  beyond  the  over- 
hanging branches ;  the  stars  came  out  by  twos  and  threes. 
The  brook  ran  on,  and  the  wind  grew  damp,  filled  with  a 
thousand  odors  from  the  river  and  the  forest.    There  was 


200  Barnaby  Lee 

no  sound  but  the  drip  of  the  dew  and  the  tinkling  of 
water  in  the  mill-race.  Barnaby  crept  from  behind  the 
door,  and  looked  around  the  glen.  There  was  naught  to 
be  seen.  Closing  and  latching  the  door,  he  ran  at  the  top 
of  his  speed  up  the  slope  until  he  came  to  the  Governor's 
house. 

"Mynheer,"  he  gasped,  when  he  had  come  up  to  the 
room  where  Gerrit  Van  Sweringen  was,  "John  King  is 
here!" 

The  envoy  was  sharpening  his  rapier  with  a  swords-, 
man's  hone.    He  looked  up  with  a  quiet  smile. 

*  *  Thou  hast  had  a  dream, ' '  said  he. 

"Nay,  mynheer;  't  was  no  dream." 

"Well,  let  the  villain  bide.  We  have  no  more  concern 
with  him.  Hop  into  bed,  for  thou  and  I  must  be  doing 
early,  lad.  Say  a  prayer  for  me,  if  thou  prayest.  By  this 
time  to-morrow  night  I  may  sleep  in  eternity." 

Barnaby  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  face.  ' '  Which  way 
are  we  going,  mynheer?" 

* '  Whichever  way  honor  directeth  us, ' '  said  Van  Swer- 
ingen, soberly.  And  with  that  he  made  himself  ready 
for  bed. 

As  Barnaby  knelt  by  the  crucifix  that  hung  upon  the 
wall,  he  heard  two  voices  coming  through  the  darkness 
along  the  road  beneath  the  window. 

"Ye  will  not  fail  me?"  said  the  first,  shrill  and 
anxious. 

"Blight  me  green!"  said  the  other.  "You  are  always 
talking  failure." 


In  the  Spring-house  201 

"Well,  there  's  no  need  of  harping  upon  that  now; 
't  is  no  matter  what  I  am  talking.  You  look  out  for  your- 
self, I  say.  They  tell  me  that  the  Dutchman  stabs— that 
he  is  the  fiend  himself  with  the  small  sword." 

' '  Oh,  be  hanged  to  him  and  his  small  sword !  I  '11 
quench  him,  don't  you  fear.  One,  two,  three!  D'  ye 
see  these  snuffers?  It  's  'puff!'  and  his  candle  is  out. 
At  the  path  by  the  meadow  road,  ye  said  ? ' ' 

"The  path  to  the  right.    You  '11  be  sure  to  be  there?" 

"  If  I  'm  not  you  may  have  me  hanged. ' ' 

"I  '11  have  nobody  hanged.  Upon  my  soul,  will  ye 
never  cease  prating  of  hangmen?" 

"When  you  cease  ever  prating  of  failure  I  will." 

*  *  I  have  ceased ;  keep  your  part ;  be  early. ' ' 

"Ay,  verily;  I  '11  be  up  and  out  with  the  bird  of  St. 
Guy!" 

With  that  the  voices  moved  on. 

Bamaby  crept  to  the  window.  The  stars  were  fading 
from  sight  in  a  mist ;  from  the  fields  the  wind  came  cold 
and  damp;  there  were  no  lights  anywhere.  He  could 
hear  the  faint  sound  of  feet  in  the  distance,  and  of  muf- 
fled voices  dying  away.  He  turned  to  the  curtained  bed. 
"Mynheer  Van  Sweringen,"  he  said  softly.  There  was 
no  response;  only  a  long  and  regular  breathing  came 
through  the  damask  curtains. 

Again  he  called  softly,  but  yet  there  came  no  reply. 
The  envoy  was  fast  asleep. 


CHAPTER  XXV 


THE   DUEL   IN   TEEB   FOG 


IT  was  three  o'clock  when  Barnaby  woke.  The  room 
was  ghostly  gray  with  a  fog  which  had  come  up  in 
the  night.  The  hangings  were  all  damp  and  limp,  and  the 
posts  of  the  bed  were  wet.  The  candles  burned  like  pale 
spots  with  a  little  mist  about  them. 

MjTiheer  Van  Sweringen  was  already  up,  and  was 
buckling  on  his  shoes. 

' '  Be  quick,  my  boy, ' '  said  he,  for  they  could  hear  the 
cocks  crowing. 

Barnaby  sprang  up  quickly.  When  he  took  up  his 
shoes  the  leather  was  stiff  with  the  moisture  from  the  air. 
Outside  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  the  fog  and  mys- 
terious shapes  which  were  trees. 

As  he  dressed,  quick  steps  came  up  the  walk  and 
paused  under  the  window. 

"Mynheer!"  a  voice  called  softly.  "Mynheer  Van 
Sweringen ! ' '  and  a  handful  of  sand  and  pebbles  clicked 
sharply  against  the  pane.  A  little  came  in  through  the 
open  sash  and  rattled  on  the  floor. 

"All  up,"  replied  Van  Sweringen,  quietly,  at  the  win- 
dow. "Come  on,  boy,"  he  said;  and  then  he  and  Bar- 
naby went  swiftly  and  silently  down  the  stairs. 

202 


The  Duel  in  the  Fog        203 

Captain  Martin  Kregier  and  Albert  the  Trumpeter 
were  standing  in  the  pathway  with  their  cloaks  wrapped 
around  them,  and  behind  them  was  Tierek  Van  Ruyn. 

' '  Good  morning, ' '  they  all  said  softly,  for  the  hush  of 
the  daybreak  was  on  them. 

"They  showed  me  the  place,"  said  Tierek  Van  Ruyn. 
"This  way,  if  ye  please,  mynheeren";  and  they  went 
quickly  across  the  road  into  the  beech  wood.  The  fog  was 
so  thick  they  could  scarcely  see  the  trunks  of  the  trees. 
The  water  dripped  from  the  branches  like  rain,  and  the 
drenched  grass  soon  soaked  their  shoes  and  stockings 
through.  There  was  no  sound  but  the  dripping  and  the 
swish  of  their  strides  in  the  grass. 

They  came  soon  to  a  low  stone  wall  half  covered  with 
blackberry-vines.  Here  they  stopped  for  a  moment  and 
listened.  There  were  morning-glories  among  the  thorns 
and  wild  roses  full  of  the  dew,  and,  as  they  stood  there 
listening,  a  startled  bird  flew  from  its  nest  in  the  grass 
with  a  little  broken  cry. 

Beyond  the  wall  stood  a  hawthorn-tree,  and  beyond  the 
tree  lay  the  meadows,  though  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen 
but  the  fog  which  covered  them  like  a  cloak.  Somewhere 
beyond  the  hawthorn  they  heard  a  man's  voice  singing 
softly,  as  if  to  himself,  a  song,  the  verses  of  which  ended 
dolefully  with  "Falero,  lero,  loo!"  Yet  it  sounded 
pleasant,  for  his  voice  was  young  and  sweet. 

"There  they  are,"  said  Kregier. 

At  that  the  singing  stopped,  and  the  singer's  voice 
said:  "Tsst,  Cousin  Brooke!     I  hear  them  coming." 


2  04  Barnaby  Lee 

"Hola!"  called  Captain  Kregier.  "Where  are  ye, 
gentlemen  ? ' ' 

"Here,  this  way,  along  the  wall,"  replied  a  heavier 
voice,  "I  told  ye  they  would  come  down  through  the 
wood,  Cousin  Charlie." 

'  *  But  Philip  said  that  he  would  send  them  down  by  the 
road  through  the  meadow." 

* '  Cousin  Philip  says  a  deal, ' '  rejoined  the  heavy  voice. 
•'If  he  did  but  the  half  of  what  he  says,  he  'd  be  a 
prodigy. ' ' 

The  air  hung  full  of  the  leaden  fog  across  the  little 
knoll  where  the  Maryland  gentlemen  were  standing. 
There  were  Master  Thomas  Nottly,  Master  Baker 
Brooke,  Major  Marmaduke  Tilden,  and  the  Governor 
himself.  Their  cloaks  and  coats  were  gray  with  damp- 
ness, and  their  laces  hung  dejectedly.  Their  stockings, 
too,  were  thoroughly  soaked,  and  their  shoes  were  stiff 
with  moisture. 

' '  This  fog  just  suits  a  Dutchman, ' '  Master  Nottly  was 
saying. 

"There  is  no  more  fog  in  Holland  than  there  is  at 
home,  mynheer,"  said  Baker  Brooke,  with  a  quiet  bow 
to  Mynheer  Van  Sweringen. 

"We  all  shall  see  quite  well  enough,"  said  the  Gov- 
ernor. 

With  that  they  all  bowed  courteously,  and  bade  one 
another  good  morning. 

"The  sooner  we  are  at  it,  the  sooner  we  are  done," 
said  Captain  Kregier  to  Master  Nottly. 


The  Duel  in  the  Fog         205 

Master  Nottly  nodded.    ''That  's  a  very  true  observe." 

Mynheer  Van  Sweringen  had  already  laid  aside  his 
outer  coat,  and  his  shirt-sleeves  were  limp  with  the  damp. 
His  air  was  fair  and  courteous,  but  grim. 

Master  Calvert  had  a  bow  of  ribbon  in  his  hair,  and  his 
lips  were  smiling,  though  his  eyes  were  grave. 

Master  Brooke  was  measuring  the  rapiers  at  one  side, 
while  the  others,  with  Albert  the  Trumpeter,  were  kick- 
ing off  the  ground,  which  here  and  there  was  overset  with 
clumps  of  weed.  '  *  It  is  not  Calais  sands,  mynheer, ' '  said 
Major  Tilden;  ''but  it  will  serve.  A  man  may  die  as 
quickly  on  the  grass.  Do  ye  prefer  the  French  or  the 
Italian  style  of  fence  ? ' ' 

"The  common  Dutch,  sir,"  said  Kregier. 

Major  Tilden  laughed.  "As  was  to  be  supposed.  But, 
Captain  Kregier,  I  've  a  mind  that  your  'common  Dutch' 
is  most  uncommon  stuff. ' ' 

"Well,  if  you  're  ready,"  said  Master  Brooke,  "we 
might  as  well  be  at  it  as  standing  here  idle ;  there  seems  to 
be  no  clearing  up  to  this  infernal  fog. ' ' 

Mynheer  Van  Sweringen  slipped  off  his  cloak,  which 
he  had  drawn  about  him.  The  warmth  of  his  body  was 
still  in  it  when  he  gave  it  to  Barnaby. 

' '  Here,  boy ;  hold  these  hand-guns,  too, ' '  said  Kregier, 
taking  his  heavy  pistols  from  his  belt.  * '  Keep  their  pans 
under  thy  jacket;  the  fog  is  very  damp." 

Then  Captain  Kregier  and  Master  Nottly  took  up  their 
stands  to  right  and  left,  with  the  points  of  their  swords 
on  the  grass. 


2o6  Barnaby  Lee 

"Gentlemen,  we  are  ready,"  they  said. 

The  principals  stood  for  a  moment  in  silence,  facing 
each  other,  with  a  look  upon  their  countenances  that 
haunted  the  boy  for  many  a  day— inquiring,  deadly  calm, 
and  inflexible,  not  to  be  moved  by  argument,  friendship, 
or  love.  They  were  come  to  a  place  where  each  hand's- 
move  was  irrevocable  and  fatal;  yet  in  each  man's  face, 
for  an  instant,  there  was  a  look  as  if  to  say, '  *  I  would  that 
I  might  snap  my  thumbs  and  cry,  'A  fig  for  honor!' 
throw  down  my  sword,  and  take  thine  hand,  to  be  good 
friends  again!"  It  passed  like  sunlight  through  quick 
clouds. 

"Ready!"  said  Captain  Ejregier. 

The  rapiers  flashed  aloft,  fell  level,  and  engaged,  with 
a  rasping  sound  and  a  shrill,  keen  grating  that  was  never 
still.  Over  the  fields  and  through  the  wood  the  yellow 
fog  drifted,  now  rising  a  little,  then  falling  again  until 
there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  the  men  upon  the  knoll, 
and  even  they  were  ghostly  as  they  stood  there,  voiceless 
and  motionless,  watching  the  sword-blades  flash  and 
thrust.  There  was  no  sound  but  the  quick,  sharp  breath- 
ing of  the  swordsmen,  and  the  constant  shifting  of  their 
feet  in  the  harsh  grass. 

Van  Sweringen's  style  of  fence  had  very  little  feinting, 
but  was  of  straight  attacks  and  lunges  that  called  for  the 
utmost  skill.  A  stillness  had  come  on  him,  a  stern  dig- 
nity, that  well  matched  the  dark  austerity  of  his  counte- 
nance. But  my  young  Lord  Baltimore  seemed  to  grow 
more  careless  every  moment,  and  all  the  while  kept  up  a 


rhe  Duel  in  the  Fog        207 

mnning  fire  of  remark,  as  "Good,  Dutchman,  good! 
Most  gentlemanlike.  A  sweet  and  comely  guard.  Well 
kept,  upon  my  word,  well  kept ! ' '  and  his  mouth  laughed 
gaily,  though  all  the  while  he  fenced  with  swift  and  ex' 
ceeding  keen  alertness  and  with  desperate  reaching  across 
Mynheer  Van  Sweringen's  steady  blade,  which  seemed 
to  grow  steadier  all  the  while.  This  recklessness  grew 
upon  him,  until  even  Van  Sweringen  cried: 

"In  heaven's  name,  guard  thyself  better,  or  I  shall 
certainly  spoil  thee ! ' ' 

For  reply  Master  Calvert  came  over  his  antagonist's 
guard  with  a  fierce,  lunging  thrust,  springing  in  upon 
him  like  a  wild-cat. 

Mynheer  Van  Sweringen's  guard  went  down,  and  he 
would  have  been  spitted  like  an  eel,  but,  with  incredible 
adroitness,  he  hollowed  his  back  like  a  bow,  and  the  long 
blade  went  slitting  through  his  shirt  with  a  rending 
sound,  in  at  one  side  and  out  at  the  other,  and  across 
his  back  like  an  icicle. 

Then,  in  a  twinkling  of  an  eye,  the  thing  was  done 
and  over. 

Before  Master  Calvert  could  recover  from  the  lunge, 
Van  Sweringen  disengaged,  and  attacking  him  over  the 
wrist  with  a  thrust  as  swift  as  the  flight  of  an  arrow,  ran 
him  through,  half  the  length  of  his  blade,  and  was  back 
again  on  his  guard,  with  the  tip  of  his  rapier  pointing 
down  to  the  grass,  his  lips  pressed  grimly  together,  ready 
for  anything,  capable  and  alert.  Along  the  blade  of  his 
rapier  was  a  mist  of  red,  half  wiped  away. 


2o8  Barnaby  Lee 

My  young  Lord  Baltimore  turned  suddenly  and  let  his 
rapier  fall;  it  made  a  little  wet  splash  in  the  grass, 
' '  St.  Hubert ! "  he  said,  with  his  face  all  drawn ;  ' '  gentle- 
men, I  am  finished ! " 

Van  Sweringen  breathed  quickly,  his  lips  set  firm  to- 
gether, his  nostrils  wide,  and  his  attitude  as  rigid  as 
stone.  He  did  not  speak,  but  stared  with  fixed  eyes  at 
Master  Calvert. 

The  Governor 's  hands  were  clenched  upon  his  side.  A 
thin  red  line  ran  down  his  sleeve  and  broadened  over 
his  fingers. 

"Quick!"  he  cried.  "I  am  bleeding!"  Then  all  at 
once  he  shuddered  and  swayed  uneasily  on  his  feet. 
* '  Oh,  Mary ! "  he  cried,  "  I  am  done  f or ! "  And,  turning 
half-way  around,  he  pitched  headlong  into  the  grass. 

His  cousin.  Baker  Brooke,  was  down  beside  him  in  an 
instant.  Major  Tilden  ran  up,  whipping  out  a  handker- 
chief, and  Master  Nottly  was  lifting  the  wounded  man's 
head,  when  Barnaby,  leaning  against  the  wall  and  feel- 
ing a  little  sick,  heard  a  swift  rushing  of  feet  in  the  grass, 
going  up  the  hillside,  and  all  at  once,  with  the  sound  of 
feet  in  the  grass,  bodiless  and  unearthly  in  the  fog,  a  thin, 
high  voice  began  to  cry,  "What!  Here!  John  Doe! 
Help,  help  !     They  are  murdering  the  Governor ! ' ' 

As  if  in  answer  to  the  cry,  there  came  a  shouting  in 
the  fog,  and  the  sound  of  heavy  footsteps  thudding  along 
the  soft,  wet  ground,  as  if  a  body  of  men  were  running 
together  along  the  hilltop.  Master  Brooke  got  up  and 
looked  into  the  fog. 


The  Duel  in  the  Fog        209 

' ' What  's  this ? "  he  said.    ' ' What  's  this ?' ' 

But  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen,  save  only  the  bram- 
bled  wall  and  the  meadow  for  a  little  space  like  an  island 
about  them. 

The  fog  lay  denser  than  ever ;  a  pelting  rain  had  begun 
to  fall ;  the  shouting  grew  nearer,  the  sound  of  the  run- 
ning feet  came  on,  and  ever  that  shrill,  high  voice  kept 
calling,  "This  way,  John  Doe;  this  way!" 

When  Master  Calvert  heard  the  voice  he  lifted  his  head 
a  little. 

"By  the  bones  of  the  Red  O'Donnell!"  he  gasped, 
"what  's  this?"  and  then,  "Oh,  shame!"  and  sank  back 
with  a  look  of  horror. 

He  had  scarcely  spoken  when  out  of  the  fog  came  a 
splash  of  flame  and  the  thundering  crash  of  a  pistol.  A 
handful  of  slugs  tore  the  ground  into  shreds  at  Mynheer 
Van  Sweringen's  feet,  and  in  through  the  fog  ran  a 
stooping  man,  his  hat-flaps  down  about  his  face,  and  a 
long  knife  in  his  hand.  Coming  upon  the  trumpeter, 
who  was  nearest  upon  the  knoll,  he  struck  him  twice  in 
the  back  with  inconceivable  rapidity,  and  was  off  again 
into  the  fog.  "Here  they  are!"  he  cried,  and  sprang 
over  the  wall.  Albert  the  Trumpeter  gave  a  choking  cry, 
and  fell  forward  upon  his  face. 

Then  came  a  shout,  "Down  with  the  Dutch!"  and 
through  the  fog  about  them  they  could  discern  dim  forms 
that  leaped  and  ran  and  peered  at  them.  "Down  with 
the  Dutch!"  rose  the  cry.  "Down  with  the  com- 
thieves!"     And  again  came  a  stabbing  flame,  and  the 

14 


2IO  Barnaby  Lee 

whistling  slugs  from  a  hand-gun  sang  through  the  air 
and  went  screaming  into  the  beech  wood.  Mynheer  Van 
Sweringen  started  back,  for  the  wind  of  them  swept  his 
face.    The  hum  of  the  slugs  beside  his  head  was  deadly. 

Kregier  clenched  his  fists  and  shook  them  wildly  in  the 
air.  "Foul  play!"  he  cried.  "There  hath  been  foul 
play!" 

But  Master  Charles  Calvert,  turning  on  his  side,  cried 
out  with  a  gasp  :  ' '  On  my  honor,  sirs,  I  do  not  know  what 
this  outbreak  means!" 

Mynheer  Van  Sweringen  answered  him:  "We  have 
never  doubted  thine  honor.  Methinks  this  is  a  whirlwind 
I  have  sown  with  mine  own  hands." 

"Down  with  the  Dutch!"  came  the  cry  again.  The 
press  seemed  gathering  in  upon  them,  and  out  in  the  fog 
another  gun  went  off  with  a  roaring  bang,  but  the  slugs 
flew  wild  in  the  treetops.  They  could  hear  new  voices 
hurrying  down  from  the  road  on  the  hilltop.  It  was  plain 
that  dangerous  company  was  gathering. 

' '  Mynheer, ' '  said  Marmaduke  Tilden,  ' '  I  trow  we  must 
run  for  it" ;  and  he  looked  about  him  as  if  half  stupefied. 
"I  do  not  know  what  this  outbreak  means,  but  you  may 
count  upon  me ! "  and  he  pluckily  out  with  his  sword. 

' '  I  should  make  a  try  for  a  boat, ' '  said  Baker  Brooke. 
"They  have  the  upper  hand,  and  we  can  hardly  win  the 
town.  Nottly  and  Tilden  and  I  will  close  with  the  rogues, 
and  perhaps  we  can  make  some  diversion  while  ye  get  a 
good  start  for  the  river. ' ' 

Van  Sweringen  looked  around  him.  They  were  stand- 
ing back  to  back  on  the  knoll,  a  little  knot  of  men.    Then 


The  Duel  in  the  Fog        211 

he  turned  to  Kregier.  "We  must  run  for  it,  captain,'* 
said  he.  ' '  We  must  find  a  landing,  and  off  to  the  ship,  or 
we  shall  all  be  murdered."  He  ran  to  the  wounded 
trumpeter.  "Albert!"  he  cried,  and  laid  hold  of  his 
arm.  The  trumpeter  rose,  although  he  staggered  as  if 
he  were  drunk.  Tierck  Van  Ruyn  gave  him  an  arm  to 
lean  on;  Barnaby,  thrusting  the  pistols  into  his  belt, 
sprang  to  the  other  side,  and  put  his  arm  around  him. 

Then  Tilden  and  Brooke  ran  into  the  fog,  waving  their 
swords,  and  crying,  * '  Stand,  you  contemptible  villains ! ' ' 

And  the  former  engaged  with  a  sailoring-man  who 
fought  desperately  well  with  a  hanger;  but  Brooke's 
sword  was  knocked  out  of  his  hand,  and  he  was  knocked 
over  the  head,  so  that  he  fell  doubled  up  in  the  grass,  and 
lay  there,  unable  to  get  to  his  feet,  with  his  hands  clasped 
over  his  forehead. 

Again  the  Governor  cried  out:  "Mynheer,  upon  mine 
honor,  I  do  not  know  what  this  outbreak  means." 

'  *  Why,  sir,  I  never  have  doubted  thine  honor, ' '  replied 
Van  Sweringen. 

Then  they  were  off  through  the  fog,  down  the  slope  of 
the  meadows  toward  the  inlet.  The  last  they  saw  of  the 
English  gentlemen.  Master  Nottly  had  drawn  his  sword, 
and,  leaving  the  Governor  outstretched  on  his  cloak,  was 
fighting  like  a  maniac  with  a  tall,  gaunt  man,  while  Til- 
den, who  had  run  his  first  antagonist  through  the  breast 
and  left  him  for  dead  in  the  field,  was  lashing  about  him 
with  his  sword,  crying,  *  *  Stand,  ye  villains ! ' '  and  Master 
Brooke  lay  on  his  back  at  the  foot  of  the  knoll,  with  his 
hands  over  his  face. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE   FIGHT   AT   THE   LANDING-PLACE 

THEY  had  come  about  half-way  down  through  the 
meadow  below  the  wall,  the  world  dazed  with  the 
fog,  and  Barnaby's  wits  in  a  whirl  with  the  crying  out 
and  the  running.  It  seemed  for  a  while,  indeed,  as  if  they 
were  coming  off  scot-free ;  for  the  stand  taken  by  the  Eng- 
lish gentlemen  had  confused  the  attacking  party,  and  the 
shouts  and  cries  were  falling  away  disordered  among  the 
meadows.  But  all  on  a  sudden,  when  they  were  gone  per- 
haps about  two  furlongs,  the  fog  floated  up  for  an  instant, 
and  there,  in  the  field  behind  them,  they  saw  a  sailor  run- 
ning like  a  hound  upon  their  trail.  No  sooner  had  he 
perceived  them  than,  although  he  was  still  some  distance 
away,  he  fired  at  them  with  a  hand-gun,  and  ran  down 
the  field  shouting,  "Here  they  go!  Head  'em  off! 
Hurry,  ye  lubbers ! ' '  Then  the  fog  shut  down  again,  and 
wiped  him  out  of  their  sight  as  if  a  curtain  had  been 
drawn.  Mynheer  Van  Sweringen  turned  and  ran  back 
swiftly  into  the  mist.  All  they  heard  was  a  sudden  shout 
and  the  stamping  of  feet  in  the  semi-darkness.  Then  out 
of  the  fog  came  a  choking  cry  like  sobbing  laughter,  and 
Mynheer  Van  Sweringen  came  running  back  and  joined 
them  again. 

212 


The  Fight  at  the  Landing-place  213 

And  so  they  came  on  down  the  slope.  They  were  keep- 
ing well  together,  but  the  wounded  trumpeter  stumbled 
and  lagged,  for  his  boots  were  very  heavy,  and  tripped 
upon  the  rolling  ground,  so  that  they  could  hardly  keep 
him  upon  his  feet,  though  he  stuck  to  it  gamely.  They 
had  come  out  of  the  field  where  the  stone  wall  was, 
and  could  now  smell  the  river  wind;  but  the  fog  grew 
thicker  around  them  as  they  came,  and  they  could  make 
out  little  except  the  ground  under  their  feet. 

Twice  the  blind  chase  overtook  and  almost  closed  upon 
the  fugitives;  but  Van  Sweringen  and  Kregier,  turning 
back  into  the  fog,  crossed  with  those  who  pressed  too 
close,  while  Tierck  Van  Ruyn  and  Barnaby  made  off 
toward  the  river,  supporting  the  groaning  trumpeter  be- 
tween them. 

Then  Captain  Kregier  came  running  on  again,  his 
short  sword  in  his  hand.  "They  will  stop  me  again? 
Ach,  neen,  I  think!"  he  panted.  His  gray  eyes  flashed 
and  his  sword  was  red.  Mynheer  Van  Sweringen  fol- 
lowed him,  running  lightly,  with  nostrils  spread,  and  a 
wild  light  in  his  eyes. 

In  this  way,  hurrying  all  the  time  as  fast  as  the  trum- 
peter could  go,  fighting  and  calling  out  "Courage!"  to 
one  another,  they  came  at  last  to  the  head  of  a  road  run- 
ning down  through  the  bluff  to  the  waterside. 

Below  them  the  river  was  lost  in  the  fog.  They 
could  distinguish  nothing.  All  they  could  see  was  the 
yellow  road  under  foot,  running  down  through  the 
hollow. 


214  Barnaby  Lee 

'  *  Ach ! ' '  panted  Captain  Kregier,  '  *  Pray  heaven  there 
is  a  boat ! ' ' 

Then  they  started  down  the  hill. 

The  road  was  steep  and  rough,  cut  up  by  wagon-wheels, 
and  there  were  many  stones,  so  that  they  were  forced  to 
go  down  slowly,  as  the  trumpeter's  strength  was  fast 
failing  and  he  was  growing  sick. 

"Ach!"  he  groaned.  "Go  easy,  comrades.  I  am  all 
stabbed  to  pieces.  Stop  a  bit  until  I  can  rest,  or  I  can  go 
no  farther ! ' ' 

So  they  stopped  for  a  moment  in  the  roadway. 

They  could  hear  the  sound  of  running  feet,  and  then 
the  chase,  confused  by  their  silence,  halted  somewhere 
off  in  the  fog,  and  voices  began  to  cry,  ' '  Where  did  they 
go?" 

"They  went  this  way.    I  saw  them." 

"I  don't  believe  they  went  that  way;  I  don't  hear  noth- 
ing of  'em,"  said  one  of  the  party. 

'  *  But  I  tell  you  they  did ;  I  saw  'em. ' ' 

"Be  still  there,  I  say,  ye  clattering  fools,"  cried  a 
hoarse,  commanding  voice.  "There  's  summat  stirring 
yonder. ' ' 

Then  everything  was  still  except  the  rushing  of  the 
river,  and  now  and  then  a  footfall  going  up  or  down  the 
bank,  or  rustling  cautiously  in  the  grass  along  the  gully- 
top.  Then  all  at  once,  out  of  the  fog  at  their  right,  a  man 
with  a  dark-green  handkerchief  about  his  head  sprang 
over  the  edge  of  the  bluff  and  down  the  bank  almost  upon 
them,  all  unaware  of  their  presence,  and  had  almost 


The  Fight  at  the  Landing-place  215 

touched  them  with  his  hands  before  he  saw  them.  He 
was  so  close  that  there  was  no  scrambling  back  up  the 
gullynside.  He  gave  a  scream,  and  shouting,  '  *  Here  they 
are!"  threw  himself  forward,  knife  in  hand.  Mynheer 
Van  Sweringen  closed  with  him,  and  struck  with  his 
shortened  rapier;  then,  turning,  came  on  after  them 
with  a  bitter  laugh,  leaving  the  fellow  lying  on  his  face 
in  the  road,  his  arms  outstretched  and  his  fingers  fum- 
bling the  gravel. 

At  this  the  chase  once  more  fell  back,  and  no  one 
put  himself  forward;  so  that  the  fugitives  came  down 
through  the  hollow  to  the  landing-place  unassailed,  the 
loose  stones  rattling  under  their  feet.  But  as  they 
emerged  from  the  mouth  of  the  gully  to  the  beach  below, 
there  was  a  whirring  sound,  and  a  shower  of  stones  from 
the  bluff  came  thumping  down  around  them. 

"There!"  cried  a  hoarse  voice.  "Don't  ye  hear 
them  ? ' '  The  shouting  began  again,  and  heavy  footsteps 
hurried  down  the  road  through  the  hollow  behind  them. 

Of  their  pursuers  they  could  as  yet  see  nothing  through 
the  fog;  but  before  them,  dimly  outlined,  lay  a  long  to- 
bacco-landing, down  which  Captain  Kregier  ran.  "Hei! 
there  is  a  boat.  Thank  God!"  he  cried.  And  they  all 
went  running  after  him. 

Beside  the  landing  lay  a  yawl,  like  a  duck  on  the  water. 
When  they  came  to  it  they  saw  it  was  yellow  and  black- 
seeing  which,  Bamaby  uttered  a  startled  cry.  He  had 
seen  that  yawl  before. 

But  "Quick!"  cried  Mynheer  Van  Sweringen,  and 


2i6  Barnaby  Lee 

stopped  at  the  throat  of  the  wharf,  standing  with  rapier 
ready.  ' '  Into  her !  I  will  hold  them  off  until  ye  are  all 
gone  down. ' ' 

With  that  he  flourished  his  rapier  until  it  shone 
through  the  fog  like  a  ring  of  cold  white  fire.  At  once 
the  rascals  halted,  and  drew  back  for  an  instant,  daunted. 
They  had  tasted  that  long  blade,  and  were  not  hungry 
for  more.  But  all  about  him  the  heavy  stones  beat  upon 
the  wharf  and  threw  up  handfuls  of  sand  and  dirt  as 
they  ricochetted  around  him. 

* '  Be  quick ! "  he  said.    * '  Are  ye  all  gone  down  ? ' ' 

"No,"  cried  Captain  Kregier. 

Again  he  cried,  "Are  ye  all  gone  down?" 

"No,"  was  the  captain's  answer.  "You  must  hold 
them  off  a  little  yet.    Albert  hath  swooned." 

' '  Then  be  quick, ' '  cried  Mynheer  Van  Sweringen ;  "  I 
can  hardly  stand  them  off  any  more."  Yet  he  laughed 
as  he  spoke,  though  he  was  panting  for  breath,  and  ran 
back  again  into  the  fog. 

All  the  mist  around  him  seemed  alive ;  bludgeons  struck 
at  him,  stones  flew  by.  Twice  he  lunged  and  recovered 
again,  with  his  trouble  for  his  pains;  twice  again  he 
lunged  and  twice  came  back  with  his  sword-blade  drip- 
ping red. 

Where  all  their  pistols  were,  it  seemed  that  none  but 
heaven  knew,  or  Van  Sweringen  would  never  have  seen 
his  wife  and  child  again. 

His  head  was  bare,  and  his  long  hair  hung  in  strings 
across  his  face.    His  sleeves  were  rolled  to  the  elbow,  and 


The  Fight  at  the  Landing-place  217 

on  his  wrist  at  his  rapier-hilt  was  a  little  gold  bracelet 
which  his  wife  had  given  him.  His  eyes  seemed  on  fire, 
and  he  laughed  hysterically.  Both  the  landing  and  the 
river-shore  were  lost  in  the  drifting  mist.  All  he  could 
see  was  the  struggling  press  that  crowded  down  the 
narrow  landing.  Again  he  lunged  with  a  shout,  and  a 
man  plunged  forward  at  his  feet  with  a  choking,  bitter 
wail. 

"Ye  would  have  it!"  cried  Van  Sweringen.  "God 
have  mercy  on  your  soul ! ' '  And  turning,  he  ran  down 
the  landing,  for  he  could  no  longer  hold  his  ground. 
They  had  pressed  him  back  upon  the  wharf,  and  there 
was  no  room  for  sword-play. 

"Are  ye  all  gone  down?"  he  shouted  as  he  ran.  "I 
can  keep  them  back  no  longer. ' ' 

Barnaby  looked  up  at  him  and  felt  his  whole  heart  leap, 
for  Van  Sweringen 's  face  was  wild  with  the  fighting, 
and  his  eyes  were  like  red  coals.  '  *  Push  off ! "  cried  Van 
Sweringen.  *  *  I  can  jump  for  it ;  let  me  look  out  for  my- 
self." And  he  turned  again  for  an  instant  to  fight  for 
running  ground.  As  he  turned,  a  ragged,  whirling  stone 
from  somewhere  in  the  fog  struck  him  just  at  the  roots 
of  his  hair.  His  sword  hand  drooped,  and  he  staggered 
back ;  the  point  of  his  rapier  plowed  the  earth.  Blindly 
raising  his  left  hand,  he  felt  about  his  face. 

"This  way,  mynheer,"  cried  Barnaby.    "This  way!" 

But  Mynheer  Van  Sweringen  staggered  about  as 
though  he  had  not  heard. 

"Ware,  sir,  ware!"  shrieked  Barnaby;  for  he  saw  a 


2 1  8  Barnaby  Lee 

huge,  tall  fellow,  who  had  just  overtaken  the  wild  pur- 
suit, come  charging  down  the  landing,  with  an  oak  cudgel 
in  his  hand  as  thick  as  the  butt  of  a  tree. 

But  Van  Sweringen  still  stood  there,  dizzily  rocking 
to  and  fro,  his  sword-point  fallen,  his  hand  to  his  face, 
uncertain,  dazed  and  blinded. 

Captain  Kregier  was  lifting  the  trumpeter  down.  Van 
Ruyn,  with  a  face  like  death,  was  trying  to  ship  the  oars. 
A  stone  had  struck  him  in  the  side  and  had  broken  two  of 
his  ribs. 

**Ach,  Gott!"  cried  Kregier.  "Have  we  failed,  after 
all?  Albert,  sustain  thyself,  and  leave  me  go  to  fight. 
Ach,  hemel!  they  have  slain  him!"  for  Mynheer  Van 
Sweringen,  stricken  blind,  came  staggering  down  the 
landing. 

Something  sprang  up  into  Barnaby 's  throat  that 
choked  him  until  his  head  spun.  Setting  his  teeth,  his 
breath  coming  fast,  he  tugged  on  the  mooring-line. 
**Look  out!"  he  cried.  "Look  out!"  and  scrambled 
upon  the  landing. 

The  man  with  the  oak  cudgel  was  running  down  the 
wharf,  bellowing  like  an  angry  bull,  and  whirling  his 
club.  Barnaby  drew  his  pistols,  and  cocked  them  with 
shaking  hands.  ' '  Look  out ! "  he  shrieked,  and  fired 
point-blank  along  the  landing.  The  hot  flame  spurted 
into  the  fog  through  the  dense  powder-smoke,  and  the 
heavy,  smothered  crash  reechoed  from  the  bluffs.  He 
heard  a  cry,  ' '  Ware,  all !  They  're  getting  at  their  guns. 
They  've  hand-guns  amongst  'em!"  and  the  rogues  broke 


The  Fight  at  the  Landing-place  219 

back  again.  But  one  man  was  lying  along  the  piling,  and 
another  sat  down  slowly  with  his  hand  to  his  breast. 
"I  'm  hit,"  he  said.  "I  'm  done  for!"  and  he  leaned 
back  against  a  post;  and  all  at  once  he  gave  a  great  gasp 
and  his  lips  fell  apart,  and  the  side  of  his  jacket  was  wet 
and  red. 

Kregier  laid  the  trumpeter  safe  in  the  stem  of  the 
yawl,  then  climbed  up  to  the  wharf,  and  taking  Mynheer 
Van  Sweringen  in  his  strong  arms,  sprang  back  with  him 
into  the  rolling  boat,  and  fell  with  a  crash  on  the  thwart. 
"Hurry,  there,  boy!"  he  cried.    "They  are  coming!" 

But  Barnaby  stood  looking  back  at  the  sailor  on  the 
landing.  The  rogue  had  crumpled  down  upon  one  side, 
with  his  hands  upon  his  breast  and  his  head  on  the  earth. 
The  boy's  face  was  very  white. 

"Hurry,  there!"  cried  Kregier.  "Quick,  there! 
Hurry,  boy ! ' '  for  two  men  were  coming  down  the  land- 
ing, running  doggedly  together. 

One  was  tall  and  gaunt,  the  other  short  and  heavy. 
The  short  man's  head  was  tied  up  in  a  handkerchief,  but 
the  taller  villain  wore  a  hat,  the  broad,  flapping  brims  of 
which  were  tied  up  with  leather  thongs. 

"By  glory!"  he  cried.  "They  are  taking  tlie  yawl! 
They  are  making  off  with  the  yawl ! ' ' 

But  the  other  gave  a  hoarse  gasp. 

' '  There  standeth  the  gromet  himself.  Look  out  for  the 
boat ;  I  '11  tend  to  the  boy.    I  '11  give  it  to  him ! " 

Barnaby  turned  with  a  cry,  and  leaped  down  into  the 
yawl:  it  was  Captain  John  King  and  Jack  Glaseo,  the 


2  20  Barnaby  Lee 

master's  mate.  He  cast  off  the  line;  the  boat  swung 
round;  the  tide  was  running  out.  "They  are  off,  by 
glory ! "  he  heard  King  shout ;  and  then,  with  an  angry 
cry,  John  King  sprang  from  the  wharf  above,  and  after 
him  the  master's  mate. 

One  instant  Barnaby  saw  the  red  soles  of  their  shoes 
flashing  downward  through  the  air,  and  their  loose  pea- 
jackets  flapping  like  wild,  inadequate  wings;  then  down 
into  the  water  they  came  with  a  tremendous  splash, 
scarce  a  yard  from  the  stern  of  the  yawl.  Struggling  for- 
ward as  Kregier  tugged  madly  at  the  oars,  they  plunged 
through  the  water,  and  caught  the  dripping  gunwale. 

The  boat  swung  round,  heeling  down  on  her  side,  and 
the  water  rushed  into  her. 

"Get  the  boy.  Jack,"  cried  King,  "while  I  turn  the 
cursed  thing  over ! ' ' 

The  master 's  mate  made  a  desperate  clutch  at  Barnaby 
across  the  gunwale.  Barnaby  raised  the  pistol  and 
struck  him  fiercely  with  its  butt. 

"Oh,"  screamed  the  master's  mate,  "the  gromet  hath 
broken  my  skull ! ' '  Yet  still  he  clung  to  the  stern  of  the 
yawl  like  a  bulldog. 

* '  Hit  him !  Hit  him !  I  cannot  see  to  run  the  rogue 
through,"  cried  Mjmheer  Van  Sweringen,  groping 
blindly  about  the  boat.  "Where  is  he?  Tell  me  where 
he  is ; "  and  he  raised  his  rapier. 

Directly  in  front  of  him  Captain  John  King  was  cling- 
ing to  the  gunwale,  glaring  up  into  his  blinded  face  with 
a  visage  distorted  with  hate. 


The  Fight  at  the  Landing-place  221 

"Ye  pestilent,  meddling  ape!"  cried  King,  "I  '11 
have  my  vengeance  on  ye!"  And  hanging  with  one 
hand  against  the  tug  of  Kregier's  rowing,  he  thrust  the 
other  into  his  breast  and  drew  out  a  flint-locked  pistol. 

He  tried  to  cock  it  with  his  thumb,  but  his  hands  were 
wet  and  his  fingers  slipped.  Down  went  the  hammer.  A 
flash  followed.  Barnaby  thought  the  charge  was  gone, 
but  it  was  only  a  spatter  of  sparks  at  the  pan. 

With  an  inarticulate  cry  of  rage.  King  bit  at  the  cock 
with  his  teeth,  and  clenching  them  fast  on  the  wing  of 
the  hammer,  drew  it  back  to  the  full. 

* '  Take  that ! "  he  cried,  and  thrust  the  weapon  straight 
at  Mynheer  Van  Sweringen's  breast. 

With  a  desperate  left-handed  clutch,  Barnaby  caught 
the  picaroon's  wrist,  and,  throwing  his  weight  upon  it, 
at  the  same  time  brought  down  the  butt  of  his  pistol  upon 
King's  head  with  all  the  strength  that  was  in  his  right 
arm. 

As  he  struck  there  was  a  spurt  of  flame  and  a  roaring 
crash  in  his  ears.  In  a  blind  smother  of  powder-smoke 
and  of  burning  woolen  stuffs,  he  felt  a  ripping  stab  of 
pain  tear  through  his  nearer  shoulder,  and  a  stunning 
shock  like  the  blow  of  a  cudgel  benumbed  his  whole  left 
arm. 

Choking  for  breath,  he  cried  out  bitterly,  caught  the 
arm  with  his  other  hand,  and  let  the  empty  pistol  fall 
into  the  water  at  his  feet. 

John  King 's  fingers  slipped  nervelessly  from  their  hold. 
He  made  as  if  to  clap  them  to  his  broken  head;  but  all 


222  Barnaby  Lee 

his  senses  seemed  knocked  into  a  daze,  and  he  could  not 
guide  his  hands. 

He  stood  a  moment,  reeling  with  the  motion  of  the 
water;  then,  slowly  wavering  to  and  fro,  dropped  for- 
ward on  his  face,  his  hands  outstretched  before  him,  as 
limp  as  a  floating  weed,  and  slowly  sank  out  of  sight  be- 
neath the  eddy  behind  the  boat.  The  master's  mate  was 
plunging  back  to  shore  in  frantic  haste. 

Then  the  yawl  came  away  with  a  jump,  and  the  fugi- 
tives felt  they  were  safe  at  last. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 


AFTER   THE   FIGHT 


TIERCK  VAN  RUYN  was  sUently  rocking  to  and 
fro  in  the  bow  of  the  boat,  his  hands  clasped  to  his 
side,  and  his  face  whit^  with  pain ;  Albert  the  Trumpeter 
lay  in  a  swoon  propped  up  against  the  forward  gunwale ; 
Mynheer  Van  Sweringen  was  bathing  his  face  in  the 
water  over  the  side  of  the  yawl;  and  Barnaby,  with  a 
sick  heart,  sat  crouching  in  the  stem.  Kregier  rowed  as 
if  he  were  mad;  his  eyes  shone  like  pale  sparks,  and  as 
he  rowed  he  cried  out,  "Ach,  the  cowards,  the  treacher- 
ous cowards ! ' '  But  Barnaby 's  left  arm  hung  limp  and 
numb,  and  he  felt  queer  and  sick. 

The  wind  had  begun  to  blow  and  the  fog  to  lift.  Across 
the  inlet  he  could  see  whitecaps  under  the  fog.  By  times 
the  boat  ran  through  a  clear  space,  then  into  the  mist 
again.  As  they  were  running  through  the  fog,  aimless 
and  bewildered,  with  the  water  washing  up  and  down 
among  the  stretches,  rolling  the  empty  pistols  about,  and 
breaking  over  the  trumpeter's  legs,  a  whistle  sounded 
overhead,  as  of  a  reeved  rope  in  a  block,  and  down  from 
the  fog,  as  if  out  of  the  clouds,  dropped  the  long  sound 
of  a  weary  yawn, 

223 


2  24  Barnaby  Lee 

As  if  bewitched  by  that  long-drawn  yawn,  the  wind 
caught  up  the  fog,  tore  it  into  wreaths  of  unsubstantial 
vapor,  half  condensed  and  half  dispersed  it,  drove  it 
shoreward,  lifted  it,  parted  it  into  ragged  dimness,  and, 
obscurely  glimmering  over  their  heads,  a  gray  shape 
started  through  the  mist,  took  form,  found  shape,  sprang 
higher,  higher,  broadened,  darkened,  gathered  substance, 
and  there  beside  them  in  the  stream,  substantial  and  se- 
rene, with  the  sunlight  through  the  broken  clouds  falling 
like  gold  upon  her  rigging  and  gilding  her  rail  like  a  line 
of  flame,  lay  the  broad-beamed  herring-buss,  the  Bonte 
Koe. 

' '  Ahoy ! ' '  shouted  Kregier .    ' '  Ahoy  \  the  Bonte  Koe!" 

"Ahoy  thyself!"  said  a  quiet  voice,  and  the  skipper 
looked  over  the  taffrail.  "What  seek  ye  of  the  Bonte 
Koe?"  he  asked,  and  then  he  suddenly  stared.  "By 
the  holy  polepel!"  he  gasped,  and  let  his  long  pipe  fall. 

All  that  Barnaby  remembered  then  was  a  hurry-scurry 
overhead,  and  a  line  of  faces  staring  down ;  and  when  the 
wounded  trumpeter  and  Tierck  Van  Ruyn  had  been 
taken  aboard  in  a  sail,  and  he  himself  was  being  swung 
up  in  a  sling,  he  heard  Mynheer  Van  Sweringen  say, 
with  an  odd,  quavering  laugh:  "Well,  Skipper,  I  said  we 
would  come  aboard — and  here  we  have  come  aboard!" 

Then  they  were  under  way  and  off — just  how  the  boy 
could  scarce  have  told.  There  was  a  rush  of  water  along 
the  lee  side,  the  vessel  heeled,  and  he  was  thrown  face 
downward  in  the  scuppers.  There  he  lay  for  a  moment, 
crying ;  for  the  pain  was  great,  and  no  one  came  to  help 


After  the  Fight  22 ^ 

him.  Then,  partly  raising  himself  with  one  arm,  he  was 
leaning  against  the  bulwarks,  biting  his  lips  and  sobbing 
silently  to  himself,  when  Mynheer  Van  Sweringen  came 
up  the  deck  with  his  head  bound  in  a  cloth. 

"What  's  this?"  he  asked,  and  his  hasty  voice  was 
oddly  sharp.  "Art  hit?  My  soul,  lad,  have  the  dirty 
villains  shot  thee?"  for  he  perceived  the  pattering  line  of 
drops  that  ran  across  the  deck.  A  moment  more,  and 
Barnaby  lay  on  a  bunk  in  the  after  cabin. 

The  trumpeter,  white  and  hollow-eyed,  was  stretched 
upon  a  mattress,  and  Tierck  Van  Ruyn,  with  eyes  like  a 
ghost's,  was  leaning  against  a  bulkhead,  sipping  at  a 
cup  of  brandy.  Swiftly  ripping  Barnaby 's  sleeve  to 
where  the  pistol  charge  had  torn  its  way  through  the  arm 
just  below  the  shoulder.  Van  Sweringen  examined  the 
wound.  "My  lad,  my  lad!"  he  said,  "and  thou  hast 
taken  this  hurt  for  me,  who  have  but  used  thee  for  a 
tool ! ' '  Then  his  voice  choked  and  he  said  no  more.  But 
he  knotted  his  handkerchief  under  the  boy's  arm  until 
the  blood  ceased  flowing,  and  washed  the  wound  with 
cold  water  and  a  bit  of  fine,  white  soap,  and  having 
rubbed  it  gently  with  an  ointment,  laid  raveled  tow 
about  it,  bound  it  up  in  a  linen  bandage,  and  set  the  arm 
in  a  sling. 

"When  he  cut  away  the  shirt-sleeve  from  the  wound, 
Barnaby  bit  his  lips,  for  the  sleeve  clung,  and  the  pain 
was  keen ;  but  the  bullet  had  gone  right  in  and  out,  and 
there  were  no  bones  broken,  so  there  was  neither  probing 
nor  setting  to  be  done.     The  sharp,  cold  smart  of  the 


2  2b  Barnaby  Lee 

water  and  the  benumbing  ache  of  it  left  the  lad  feeling 
a  bit  more  comfortable  for  a  while. 

But  the  cabin  was  close  and  hot,  so  that  Van  Sweringen 
took  him  out  to  the  deck,  and  sat  with  him  where  the  tool- 
ing wind  might  blow  across  his  face.  Bamaby  now  was 
turning  faint  and  was  growing  exceeding  thirsty.  It 
seemed  as  if  he  could  never  get  enough  cool  water  to 
drink,  although  Van  Sweringen  brought  a  crockful  and 
set  it  upon  the  deck  with  a  pannikin  beside  it,  and  helped 
him  constantly. 

The  burning  thirst  grew  all  day  long,  and  by  night 
Barnaby 's  throat  seemed  like  a  parched  rush.  He  could 
not  fall  asleep.  The  air  of  the  close  cabin  was  smother- 
ing, and  the  pain  of  his  arm  was  so  bitter  keen  that  sleep 
was  impossible.  He  got  up  from  the  flock-bed  on  the  floor 
where  he  had  been  lying,  and  started  out  into  the  waist, 
staggering  dizzily  as  he  went.  He  was  quite  unable  to 
steady  himself,  although  he  had  lived  so  long  at  sea,  and 
losing  his  balance,  would  have  fallen  headlong  had  not  a 
strong  arm  slipped  about  his  waist  and  supported  him. 
Mynheer  Van  Sweringen,  seeing  him  rise,  had  arisen 
and  followed  him  out  to  the  deck.  "Is  it  so  bad?"  he 
asked.    * '  Tut,  I  am  sorry !    Let  's  see  what  I  can  do. ' ' 

He  helped  Barnaby  across  the  deck,  and  set  him 
against  the  bulwarks  in  the  folds  of  an  old  sail,  fetched 
the  crock  of  water,  and  wet  the  bandage  through  until 
Bamaby  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  Then  the  envoy  washed 
the  lad's  hot  face,  threw  back  his  long  hair  from  his 
forehead,  gave  him  a  deep,  refreshing  drink  of  water 


After  the  Fight  22 j 


from  the  scuttle-butt,  and,  sitting  down  beside  him, 
"There,"  he  said,  "that  is  better;  now  I  will  bide  with 
thee." 

By  times  Barnaby  dozed,  but  ever  waked  again,  for  his 
arm  was  aching  sorely.  For  the  most  he  sat  staring  over 
the  sea  with  the  salt  wind  in  his  face.  It  was  long  until 
morning,  he  thought;  the  night  grew  hotter  and  hotter, 
until  by  the  hurry  of  the  blood  in  his  veins  he  knew  that 
the  heat  was  fever.  This  increased  as  the  night  went  on, 
and  his  mind  began  to  stray ;  he  talked  swiftly,  sometimes 
incoherently,  to  Van  Sweringen,  telling  him  all  that  there 
was  to  tell  of  his  life  and  its  wandering : 

"My  father  was  a  captain  with  the  king.  He  rode  with 
Rupert,  Prince  Rupert  of  the  Rhine,  and  afterward 
served  in  Scotland  until  the  king  went  down.  Then  he 
lay  hid  in  Buckinghamshire,  nigh  upon  his  old  home, 
first  in  one  place,  then  another.  All  the  old  estate  was 
gone  in  the  ruin  of  the  kingdom ;  he  had  saved  his  house- 
hold goods  alone;  they  lay  concealed  in  London  under 
cover  of  friends,  for  he  knew  a-many  Roundheads,  sir, 
and  was  great  cronies  with  some— Sir  Arthur  Haselrigg, 
Desborough,  St.  John,  and  Harry  Vane.  But  ever  things 
grew  worse.  *God  hath  forsaken  us,'  he  said,  and  giving 
up  hope,  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  fly  to  America, 
where  he  had  already  bought  hira  an  estate  before  the 
troubles  began.  Our  stuff  was  stowed  aboard  a  ship,  and 
we  were  bound  to  join  her,  when  of  a  sudden  arose  a  great 
outcry  that  the  king  was  coming  again.  A  little,  all  was 
joyous ;  we  rode  our  horses  through  the  towns ;  they  had 


2  28  Barnaby  Lee 

me  cry,  'God  save  the  king!'  in  every  village  green. 
Then  began  wild  rumors  of  Sir  Arthur  and  the  rest,  on 
whom  the  authorities  sought  to  lay  hold  for  treason  to 
the  king.  One  night,  as  we  stopped  at  our  lodgings  in  a 
tavern  by  Primrose  Hill,  a  man  came  galloping  up  from 
the  south  with  his  drawn  sword  shining  in  his  hand.  His 
horse  was  lathered  with  clay  and  foam,  and  as  he  drew 
rein  at  the  horse-block  which  stood  before  the  tavern,  the 
rider  called  out  in  a  most  piteous  voice,  'Harry  Lee! 
Harry  Lee '    In  God 's  name,  are  ye  here  ? ' 

"My  father  ran  to  the  window,  asking,  'Who  comes 
here,  in  the  dead  of  night,  calling  Harry  Lee  in  the  name 
of  God?' 

"When  the  man  on  horseback  saw  him— it  was  a  bril- 
liant moonlit  night —  he  cried, '  I  am  Sir  George  Levering, 
Harry,  and  our  dog  hath  had  his  day :  they  are  seeking 
me  out  to  slay  me ;  save  me,  if  you  are  a  true  friend. ' 

'  *  Then  my  father  ran  for  the  stable-men,  and  we  were 
up  and  away  through  the  moonlight  as  hard  as  our  horses 
could  gallop. 

"Our  ship  was  to  wait  off  Shoreham  town  until  we 
came  aboard,  and  we  galloped  by  Twickenham  Ferry 
until  our  horses  could  run  no  more.  The  next  day  we  lay 
hid  in  a  hayrick,  and  at  nightfall  were  off  again  through 
Surrey,  aiming  for  Shoreham.  The  chase  was  hard  after 
us.  Twice  we  saw  them  over  the  hills,  sparkling  in  the 
sun,  but  gave  them  the  slip,  and  all  day  long  went  gallop- 
ing toward  the  south.  We  came  into  Shoreham  in  the 
night.     I  was  asleep  in  father's  arms.     A  fisherman's 


After  the  Fight  229 

boat  took  us  out  to  the  ship,  and  we  were  all  ready  to 
sail,  when  Master  Levering  went  ashore  to  sell  his  horse, 
needing  the  money  for  it.  Father  went  with  him  into 
the  town  to  sell  our  horses  also.  They  said  they  would 
quickly  return;  but  oh,  master,  he  never  came  back! 

"How  it  came  we  never  knew,  but  they  fell  upon  the 
two  in  Shoreham.  We  saw  them  running  down  the  street 
and  come  to  a  stand  in  the  market-place.  We  could  hear 
the  pistols  going  and  see  the  fisher-people  run.  Then  two 
men  went  down  on  their  faces,  and  one  was  creeping 
away  on  his  knees  from  where  my  father  and  Levering 
stood.  There  followed  a  parley,  but  no  good  came  of  it, 
for  I  saw  father  wave  his  sword  in  defiance,  the  people 
began  to  fire  again,  and  the  swirling  smoke  filled  the 
market-place.  By  and  by  they  stopped  shooting.  The 
smoke  blew  away.  The  people  came  out  of  their  houses 
once  more,  and  stood  in  the  market-place  all  day;  and 
when  the  day  was  ended,  and  it  had  begun  to  grow  twi- 
light, a  boat  came  rowing  from  shore  with  constables  and 
a  lantern.  When  they  came  near  the  ship  they  shouted 
out.  I  did  not  understand  what  they  said ;  but  some  one 
shouted  back  at  them  from  the  poop-deck  over  my  head, 
and  warned  them  off  at  their  peril,  or  the  ship  would  fire 
upon  them.  Yet  the  wherry  kept  on  coming,  and  the  con- 
stables dared  them  to  fire.  Some  one  gave  a  terrible 
curse  and  fired  over  the  rail.  There  was  a  horrible 
scream;  the  lantern  went  out,  for  the  man  who  held  it 
lell  into  the  sea.  The  ship  slipped  her  cables  and  ran, 
and  I  never  saw  my  father  again,  nor  knew  where  they 


230  Barnaby  Lee 

buried  him.  Will  ye  give  me  another  drink,  sir?  The 
talking  makes  the  mouth  dry. ' ' 

Then  he  sat  back  silently  a  moment,  watching  the 
brown  sails  flap  and  fill.  "All  that  came  after  that, 
master,  is  like  a  horrible  dream.  I  was  treated  de- 
cently enough  until  we  came  to  the  Chesapeake.  Then 
they  drove  me  below  with  kicks  and  curses,  and  all  I  saw 
of  the  Maryland  shore  was  a  glimpse  of  the  bluff  at  St. 
Mary's  which  I  caught  through  an  unstopped  hawse- 
hole. 

* '  To  what  came  after  that,  sir,  all  that  had  gone  before 
was  child's  play;  it  went  from  bad  to  worse,  and  I  might 
never  win  ashore,  no  matter  how  I  tried.  I  ha'  prayed  I 
might  die,  but  I  did  not  die ;  I  sought  to  fly,  but  might 
not;  and  now  when  I  ha'  succeeded  at  last,  ye  be  going 
to  send  me  back.  Oh,  do  not  send  me  back  again !  Mas- 
ter, I  would  rather  die  than  go  back  to  that  festering 
ship!" 

Van  Sweringen  laid  his  hand  upon  Barnaby 's  shoul- 
der. "Thou  shalt  never  go  back  to  those  villains  while 
there  is  a  roof  over  my  house,"  he  said.  "My  home 
shall  be  thy  home,  my  kindred  thy  kindred;  and  thou 
shalt  be  no  more  abused." 

Then  he  sat  with  the  boy  and  cheered  him  until  the 
morning  dawned,  and  cared  for  him  all  day  as  a  soldier 
cares  for  his  comrade ;  and  when  night  came  again,  and 
Barnaby  tossed  helplessly  on  the  cushion,  and  could  not 
rest  from  the  constant  rnqtion  of  the  ship,  Van  Sweringen 
held  him,  the  boy 's  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  so  steadied 


After  the  Fight  231 


him,  that  he  might  have  some  respite  from  pain,  taking  no 
sleep  himself,  nor  leaving  the  boy  except  to  fetch  some- 
thing to  comfort  him.  It  began  to  come  into  Barnaby's 
mind,  in  spite  of  the  pain  he  was  in,  that  there  is  kind- 
ness in  the  world  as  well  as  cruelty,  and  that  a  face 
which  is  stern  may  sometimes  cover  a  gentle  heart. 

On  the  night  of  the  sixth  day  they  came  to  New 
Amsterdam.  Mynheer  Van  Sweringen  and  Barnaby 
went  ashore  in  a  fisherman's  yawl. 

When  they  had  come  up  and  into  the  fort,  the  envoy 
beat  upon  the  house  door  with  his  sword  handle.  When 
the  serving-man  opened  the  door,  the  ambassador  stepped 
in  quickly,  bringing  Barnaby  before  him  through  the 
little  entry  to  a  room  where  the  women  were  busily  sew- 
ing about  a  table.  Van  Sweringen 's  head  was  still  tied 
up,  and  Barnaby's  arm  was  in  a  sling.  "Hola!"  cried 
Mynheer  Van  Sweringen,  "are  we  not  welcome  home?" 

Laughing,  they  all  looked  up  to  greet  him;  but  the 
laugh  died  on  their  lips.  "Oh,  Gerrit,  they  have  slain 
thee ! ' '  cried  Mevrouw  Van  Sweringen,  clasping  her 
hands  to  her  breast. 

"Nay,  Barbara,"  he  answered,  "I  am  not  slain;  nei- 
ther slain  nor  murdered.  They  have  only  a  little  spoiled 
my  beauty.  A  haughty  spirit  hath  found  its  fall.  They 
have  broken  my  obdurate  head  with  a  stone  by  St.  Mary 's 
meadows.  They  have  broken  only  my  head;  but  they 
would  have  broken  thine  heart,  had  it  not  been  for  this 
English  rogue  that  risked  his  life  for  mine.  For  the 
sacrifice  he  willingly  gave  I  can  offer  no  recompense,  yet 


232  Barnaby  Lee 

I  can  and  will  and  here  do  give  him  an  heritage  of  hon- 
esty and  honor.  I  may  have  lost  some  of  my  beauty,  but 
in  its  place  I  have  found  me  a  son." 

Dorothy  sprang  to  her  feet.  '*A  son,  father!"  she 
cried.  "Then  he  is  my  brother!  Oh,  I  have  so  wanted 
a  brother !    How  I  shall  tend  to  him  1 ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 


DOROTHY   AND   BARNABY 


TEND  to  him  she  assuredly  did,  as  though  she  had 
been  his  mother. 

She  made  a  fine  linen  shirt  for  him,  woven  of  flax  she 
herself  had  spun ;  scraped  him  peppers  to  eat  on  his  meat, 
baked  him  earth-apples,  brown  as  old  stones,  which  grew 
under  the  earth  like  turnips,  but  which,  when  done  in 
the  ashes,  burst  and  were  full  of  a  sweet  white  meal ;  she 
parched  for  him  nuts  which  grew  in  the  ground  in  shells 
with  tails  to  them ;  and  one  evening  when  he  was  feeling 
depressed,  she  made  him  a  little  brass  pot  full  of  choco- 
late, fixed  a  dish  of  garden  greens  and  spice,  upon  a 
porcelain  tray,  and  toasting  a  fresh  rusk  crisp  and  brown, 
buttered  it  with  butter  she  had  churned  that  afternoon. 
And  as  he  sat  by  the  table  eating,  sipping  the  chocolate, 
munching  the  crackling  crust  of  the  rusk,  and  bit  by  bit 
growing  more  comfortable,  she  sat  and  watched  him  with 
a  smile  on  her  lips  and  a  gentle  light  in  her  sparkling 
eyes. 

At  first  Bamaby  found  it  hard  to  understand  this  kind- 
ness. He  had  for  so  long  been  accustomed  to  cruelty 
that  he  suspected  even  gratitude  of  concealing  malice, 

233 


2  34  Barnaby  Lee 

and  had  grown  so  familiar  with  continual  abuse  that 
when  a  kindly  thing  was  done  him  or  a  gentle  hand  laid 
but  a  moment,  in  passing,  upon  his  bended  shoulder,  a 
strange,  questioning  look  came  over  his  face,  a  look  sad 
to  see  on  the  face  of  a  boy,  from  all  it  made  evident. 
Sympathy  is  a  beautiful  thing  if  one  but  understand  it; 
but  Barnaby  did  not  understand.    How  could  he? 

One  morning  as  he  sat  by  the  doorway,  thinking,  he 
heard  in  the  hallway  behind  him  the  girl's  light  footfall 
coming  through  the  house,  and  turning,  saw  that  she 
came  with  a  fresh  white  bandage  for  his  arm.  She  had  on 
a  pair  of  wooden  shoes,  which  she  wore  for  every  day, 
and  her  skirts  rustled  softly  as  she  came  through  the 
entry.  With  the  white,  long  bandage  fluttering  over  her 
arm,  and  her  gentle  face,  she  looked  like  a  sister  of  mercy. 
"Come,"  she  said,  "and  be  put  to  rights;  my  mother 
hath  sent  me  to  fix  thee. ' ' 

Rising,  he  went  as  she  pointed  and  sat  in  a  chair  beside 
the  inner  window.  Under  the  window  were  roses  in 
bloom  on  a  trellis,  filling  the  air  with  their  perfume. 
Now  and  then  a  white  pigeon  sailed  across  the  sky.  * '  Slip 
thine  arm  out  of  the  sling, ' '  she  said,  ' '  and  rest  thy  wrist 
on  the  sill  here  while  I  roll  up  thy  sleeve.  There,  that 
will  do  nicely."  Dofl&ng  the  old  bandage  with  gentle 
quickness,  she  took  up  a  small  green  jar  of  ointment  and 
from  it  skilfully  anointed  his  swiftly  healing  wound.  Her 
sleeves  were  but  to  her  elbows,  and  her  wrists  were  supple 
and  strong,  though  slender;  her  fingers  were  slim,  but 
sure  and  firm,  the  touch  of  them  light  and  dexterous.  She 


"SWIFTLY  AND  DEFTLY  SH£  BOUND  UP  THB  ABM." 


Dorothy  and  Barnaby        235 

wore  a  dandelion  or  two  thrust  through  her  yellow  hair, 
and  her  graceful  bearing  was  very  sweet,  with  a  grave 
young  dignity.  Her  eyes  glowed  with  interested  concern 
as  swiftly  and  deftly  she  bound  up  the  arm  and  smoothed 
the  bandage  down.  Then,  with  head  upon  one  side,  she 
critically  looked  her  handiwork  over,  and  as  she  tucked 
the  last  loose  end  of  the  bandage  into  its  place,  ' '  There, 
lad,  that  will  do  better, ' '  she  said,  with  pretty  pride. 

There  was  a  little  black-framed  looking-glass  hanging 
beside  the  window-casing.  Barnaby  sat  watching  the 
girl's  reflection  in  it.  Her  gown  was  blue  and  white, 
which  made  her  eyes  look  bluer;  her  elbow-sleeves  were 
bordered  with  a  narrow  fringe  of  lace ;  her  hair  was  gath- 
ered back  into  a  little  coil  upon  her  neck,  like  a  skein  of 
twisted  silk;  the  dandelions  in  her  hair  seemed  golden 
stars ;  there  was  dew  in  them  still,  and  their  split  stems, 
cool  and  saturated  with  water,  curled  and  twisted 
through  her  shining  hair  like  small  coils  of  pale  green 
wax. 

The  faces  of  the  Dutch  girls  in  the  town  were  pink, 
white,  and  quietly  sweet  as  the  vervain  in  the  garden, 
but  her  face  was  aglow  with  the  French  blood  in  her 
veins ;  and  where  the  others  were  short  and  broad,  though 
no  doubt  prettily  plump,  she  was  slim  and  lithe  as  a  reed 
in  a  stream,  and  somehow  seemed  to  partake  of  the  cool, 
fresh  clearness  of  the  brooks.  Though  as  yet  scarcely 
more  than  a  child,  her  steadiness  and  dignity  made  her 
seem  almost  a  woman. 

The  boy  watched  her  silently,  reflected  in  the  glass,  his 


236  Barnaby  Lee 

eyes  held  by  the  pose  of  her  head  and  the  deftness  of  the 
swift,  slim  fingers  going  so  expertly  under  and  over  the 
bandage.  While  he  was  watching,  the  girl  looked  up, 
and  her  eyes  met  his  in  the  mirror.  She  smiled  and  nod- 
ded in  good-fellowship.  Barnaby  dropped  his  eyes  with 
a  guilty  sense  of  having  taken  advantage  of  her  not  know- 
ing that  he  watched  her  as  she  cared  for  him. 

Doubling  a  fresh  kerchief,  she  slipped  it  under  his 
wrist  and  made  it  fast  about  his  neck.  ' '  There, ' '  said  she, 
as  she  gently  settled  his  arm  to  its  place,  "thou  art  fine 
as  a  fiddle-string. ' ' 

"You  are  very  good  to  me,"  he  said,  turning  his  face 
away.  "Why  are  ye  so  good  to  me?  Surely  there  is 
naught  I  can  do  for  you. ' ' 

She  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  "Why,"  she  said, 
"what  needst  thou  do?  Hast  not  saved  my  father's 
life  ?    I  have  not  forgotten  that,  if  thou  hast ! ' ' 

"Before  that  you  were  good  to  me." 

* '  Thou  wast  ill  then,  and  hungry,  not  strong,  but  weak 
with  fever,  and  thou  hadst  been  cruelly  beaten." 

"What  was  it  to  you  if  I  had?" 

"Why,  then,  perhaps,  nothing  at  all,"  she  said,  "more 
than  it  was  to  any  one;  no  more  than  this,  which  is 
enough :  there  was  none  else  to  care. ' ' 

' '  But  why  should  you  care  ? "  he  said  sharply,  turning 
to  look  straight  in  her  face.  ' '  I  am  English,  and  you  are 
Dutch." 

With  flushed  cheeks  she  straightened  up  and  looked 
at  him.     "Why,   what  dost  thou  mean?"  she   asked. 


Dorothy  and  Barnaby        21^'j 

''Thou  art  English  and  I  Dutch?  What  hath  that  to  do 
with  liking?  Doth  being  bom  on  different  spots  make 
any  difference  ?  Is  not  kindness  the  same  in  the  Nether- 
lands as  it  is  in  your  country  of  England?  My  father 
says  that  the  English  and  the  Dutch  are  as  like  as  two 
peas ;  and  surely,  where  there  is  such  likeness  there  should 
be  kindness  also,  for  kindness  groweth  out  of  men's 
hearts,  and  not,  like  cabbage-heads,  out  of  the  ground. 
Some  men,  forsooth,  may  be  cabbage-heads  and  know  not 
kindness.  Cabbage-heads  are  cabbage-heads;  it  is  not 
the  garden  where  they  grow  that  makes  the  difference; 
't  is  by  nature  men  are  kind,  and  not  by  geography. 
Dost  think  that  because  I  am  partly  Dutch  I  may  not 
wholly  like  thee  ?  Why,  I  put  my  liking  where  I  choose, 
and  hate  where  I  've  a  mind  to ;  and  if  thou  dost  imagine 
that  I  cannot  care,  because  that  some  silly  people  say  I 
may  not,  then  I  call  thee  foolish.  I  like  thee,  and  I  '11  tell 
thee  of  it,  for  that  is  having  my  own  sweet  will,  and  I  am 
not  to  be  stopped  of  that  by  thee  nor  anybody  else ;  I  '11 
do  as  I  please,  and  not  ask  thy  permission,  I  like  thee, 
and  I  tell  thee  so;  thou  art  a  gentle  lad,  courteous  and 
delightful.  I  like  thee.  What  's  more,  thou  shalt  like  me. 
So  there,  enough.  If  I  say  aught  offendeth  thee,  then  I 
am  sorry  of  it ;  but  I  have  said  what  I  have  to  say,  and  of 
that  I  am  not  sorry.    I  have  done  with  it ;  so ! " 

She  stood  up,  breathless,  flushed,  and  charming  in  her 
impetuous  earnestness,  slender  and  graceful  in  her  girlish 
pride,  one  dandelion,  fallen  from  her  hair,  nodding  over 
her  glowing  ear. 


238  Barnaby  Lee 

Bamaby  took  her  hand  in  his.  The  lad's  heart  was 
full ;  yet  how  to  show  his  gratitude,  being  grateful  beyond 
expression,  he  did  not  know.  He  looked  at  her ;  she  was 
facing  him  with  quiet  earnestness.  He  stooped  and 
kissed  her  on  the  cheek  as  simply  as  a  child. 

She  flushed  a  trifle.  "That  was  prettily  done,"  she 
said,  with  quiet  dignity.  "Some  would  call  thee  mala- 
pert, and  be  offended;  but  I  shall  not  so  mistake  thee, 
and  thank  thee  heartily.  Thou  art  an  earnest,  honest, 
sensible  lad,  and  I  do  honor  thee;  I  would  rather  have 
thee  brother  to  me  than  forty  Derrick  Storms." 

A  hot  tear  hurried  down  his  cheek. 

"Don't  think  it  shame  of  me,"  he  said;  "but  you  have 
been  more  kind  to  me  than  all  the  world  before. ' ' 

"Fie  on  the  horrid  world!"  she  said,  and  stamped  her 
little  wooden  shoe.  "I  '11  fetch  thee  in  a  sugar-cake,  and 
fie  upon  the  world ! "  So  she  fetched  him  in  a  sugar-cake 
with  twelve  big  raisins  in  it,  and,  besides  the  cake,  three 
apples  also,  which  he  ate  while  she  sat  in  the  doorway 
and  chattered:  and  so  they  soon  grew  to  be  very  good 
friends. 

It  was  wonderful  how  much  she  knew,  how  much  she 
had  seen  and  observed.  She  could  speak  and  read  flu- 
ently in  English,  French,  and  Dutch,  and  a  little  in 
Italian,  although  she  did  not  like  the  Italian.  "It  seem- 
eth  all  m's,  o's,  I's,  and  s's,  as  if  it  were  sweet  molasses," 
she  said.    ' '  The  French  is  prettier. ' ' 

*  *  But  French  ties  knots  in  one 's  tongue, ' '  said  he. 

"Because  thou  art  English,"  she  answered.     "The 


Dorothy  and  Barnaby        239 

English  never  talk  good  French;  they  make  uglj  faces, 
and  wave  their  arms;  but  that  is  not  talking  French.  I 
get  my  French  from  my  mother ;  she  was  a  "Huguenot, 
who  fled  out  of  France  for  religion's  sake;  at  least,  her 
fathers  did,  as  did  those  of  Madame  Stuyvesant,  the  Di- 
rector-General's wife.  So  they  two  are  friends ;  one  need- 
eth  friends  in  a  wild,  new  world  like  this.  When  we  first 
came  to  America  we  lived  in  a  hut  with  a  roof  of  rushes, 
where  the  hops  ran  wild  and  the  wild  grapes  grew  as  big 
as  my  finger-knuckle.  I  gathered  acorns  in  the  wood,  for 
we  were  run  short  of  meal ;  and  the  soldiers  called  me  a 
fairy,  because  I  was  so  fair  and  small.  They  do  not  call 
me  fairy  now ;  I  have  grown  a  deal  since  then.  Often  we 
heard  the  wolves  at  night,  and  sometimes  the  panthers 
screamed  in  the  forest,  and  sniffed  so  loud  at  the  smell 
of  the  cows  that  it  made  my  hair  stand  up.  And  once  a 
great  eland  came  and  whistled  in  at  the  window,  and 
father  shot  it  with  his  gun  while  it  was  chewing  our  cab- 
bages; and  again  a  bear  came  to  steal  cherries,  and  we 
children  chased  him  with  sticks.  He  growled  and  fumed, 
but  he  went  away ;  we  did  not  know  he  could  bite.  Thou 
shouldst  have  seen  my  mother's  face  when  we  told  her 
how  we  beat  him !  Most  men  are  like  old  Bruin :  they 
growl  and  fume ;  but  if  one  be  positive,  they  learn  to  do 
as  they  are  bid.  Presently  I  will  show  thee  how.  Didst 
think  because  I  coddle  thee  now  that  I  shall  ever  do  so? 
Thou  dost  not  know  what  a  contrary  thing  a  little  maid 
can  be;  one  moment  she  taketh  thine  head  off,  the  next 
moment  putteth  it  back.     She  is  like  a  very  small  dog 


240  Barnaby  Lee 

that  hath  splinters  for  teeth ;  she  biteth  fiercely,  but  doth 
not  mean  to  hurt." 

And  so  she  chattered  on.    "Canst  read  a  book?" 

* '  Oh,  yes, ' '  said  Barnaby,  ' '  if  the  words  be  not  as  long 
as  processions.  I  can  read  passing  well ;  my  father  taught 
me.  He  taught  me  to  sing  also ;  but  I  do  not  sing  well ; 
even  the  footman  said  so." 

She  bade  him  tell  her  of  the  ship. 

"Not  for  the  world,"  he  answered.  "A  French  rogue 
out  of  the  jails  of  Toulon  was  the  worthiest  of  that 
crew ! ' ' 

Then  she  asked  him  to  tell  her  of  England,  but  his 
memories  were  confused.  So  he  told  her  of  things  he  had 
seen  upon  the  sea:  dolphins  swimming  about  the  ship, 
sky-blue,  with  fins  and  tails  like  gold,  turtles  lying  asleep 
on  the  waters,  and  sharks  that  followed  after  the  ship. 
He  told  her  tales  that  the  sailors  told,  of  how  in  Barbados 
the  cannibals  ate  out  of  silver  bowls  as  big  as  wash-hand- 
basins,  sprinkled  the  walls  of  their  houses  with  gold,  and 
paved  the  streets  with  silver;  and  how,  in  Brazil,  there 
was  a  river  of  vinegar.  But  he  did  not  believe  it  all  him- 
self, nor  ask  her  to  believe  it. 

"Jan  Roderigo,  the  Portingal,  told  me  th^e  tales  upon 
his  faith, ' '  said  he,  * '  that  there  was  a  sea  within  the  trop- 
ics so  full  of  fish  that  the  ships  went  aground  on  them 
and  small  boats  went  on  runners.  But  I  do  not  believe 
the  rogue;  for  the  multitude  of  fish  would  soon  swallow 
the  water,  and  die  for  the  lack  of  it ;  then  there  would  be 
neither  sea  nor  fish,  only  a  dreadful  smell ;  I  trow  it  waa 


Dorothy  and  Barnaby        241 

a  fairy-tale.  But  I  will  not  speak  any  more  of  it  all ;  the 
ship  was  a  horrible  place.  The  sailors  swore  and  drank 
and  fought,  and  did  whatever  they  pleased,  and  that  was 
never  anything  good ;  and  though  sometimes  some  of  them 
gave  me  things,  the  others  always  stole  them,  and  I  was 
not  large  enough  to  fight,  so  I  had  to  take  what  came. 
The  sailing-master  sometimes  took  my  part,  and  once  he 
kicked  the  master's  mate  into  a  corner  and  told  him  to 
say  his  prayers;  but  the  master's  mate  did  not  know  any 
prayers,  so  the  sailing-master  kicked  him  head  first 
through  the  panel  of  the  door ;  and  nobody  ever  mended 
it,  so  that  the  wind  and  the  rain  came  in ;  and  John  King 
sat  there,  biting  his  nails,  for  he  was  afeard  of  the  sailing- 
master.  Scarlett  was  biggest  and  strongest  of  all  the  pica- 
roons, and  threw  them  around  like  ninepins  when  he  got 
into  one  of  his  rages.  But  I  do  not  like  to  think  of  it ;  I 
would  I  might  forget ! ' ' 

It  seemed  that  he  might  indeed  forget.  His  troubles 
went  falling  away  one  by  one,  like  leaves  from  autumn 
trees.  The  Van  Sweringens  cared  for  him  as  if  he  had 
been  of  their  blood ;  there  was  nothing  could  be  done  for 
him  but  they  did  it  eagerly.  With  plenty  to  eat,  of  right 
good  food,  sleep  enough,  peaceful  rest,  and  no  more  brutal 
treatment,  he  picked  up  health  and  strength  apace.  The 
color  came  into  his  cheeks,  and  his  muscles  began  to  fill. 

In  a  fortnight's  time  he  was  well  of  his  wound,  and  in 
fuller  strength  of  body  and  limb  than  he  had  ever  known 
before.  His  heart  sprang  up;  the  world  grew  bright 
before  his  eyes;  he  set  himself  forward  to  better  days. 


242  Barnaby  Lee 

But  there  was  one  who  did  not  love  him,  and  thai 
one  was  Derrick  Storm.  Nor  would  he  be  placated, 
nor  entreated  to  abate  his  sullen  wrath.  "I  tell  thee  I 
hate  all  Englishmen,"  he  said,  "nor  will  I  ever  do  else. 
Were  this  one  not  thy  brother,  foster-kin  of  thy  father, 
I  would  beat  him  until  his  bones  cried.  When  I  took 
him  from  the  marsh  I  promised  him  a  beating,  and  it 
gripes  my  heart  that  I  may  no  longer  give  it  him.  Nay, 
the  English  are  all  rascals ;  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to 
it,  and  that  is  the  ending  of  it.  They  may  be  quicker 
in  the  wit  than  the  Dutch,  but  they  are  all  the  greater 
rascals  for  it.  This  one  of  thine  is  a  pirate  rogue,  and 
I  hate  and  despise  him  utterly.  I  have  come  but  to  say 
good-by  to  thee,  for  thou  art  never  to  see  me  again.  I 
am  going  out  on  the  Mohawk  trail  with  Mynheer  Van 
der  Kloof." 

He  paused.  Then  he  began  again,  not  quite  so 
steadily : 

"I  can  lift  the  broken  millstone  and  shoulder  a  quar- 
tern-sack of  barley,  and  I  do  not  think  this  boy  can  do 
either;  yet  he  tumeth  a  smooth  and  easy  handspring; 
that  I  cannot  do.  I  am  too  slow  and  too  heavy,  perhaps 
too  dull;  but  I  hate  him  none  the  less  for  that.  Nay, 
don't  plead;  it  matters  nothing  any  more  whether  thou 
art  pleased  or  no  with  what  I  say  or  do;  nor  am  I 
ashamed  of  my  quarrel.  There  will  never  be  peace  while 
two  are  left  to  shout,  'Up  with  the  Orange!'  and  'God 
save  the  King!'  I  am  a  Hollander,  and  shall  be  to  the 
last  day  that  I  live,  and  he  who  will  not  fight  the  Eng- 


Dorothy  and  Barnaby        243 

lish  is  a  coward.  I  will  hate  and  fight  them  till  I  die, 
and,  if  God  so  willeth,  after.  As  for  thee,  I  have  liked 
thee  better  than  well,  although  thou  art  not  all  Dutch; 
and  although  thou  dost  turn  like  a  whirligig  from  sharp 
to  soft  and  from  peace  to  war,  I  have  never  seen  thy 
like ;  I  do  not  think  I  ever  shall.  There,  I  have  said  all 
there  is  to  say;  thou  shalt  never  see  me  again;  we  are 
going  in  twenty  minutes.    Good-by ! ' ' 

She  gave  him  her  hand;  he  looked  at  her  steadily, 
then  awkwardly  knelt  and  put  her  fingers  to  his  lips. 

' '  God  keep  thee ! ' '  she  said. 

He  arose.    ' '  God  keep  us  all ! "  he  said.    '  *  Good-by ! ' ' 

She  watched  him  go  out  at  the  fort  gate,  half-blindly 
feeling  his  way,  for  his  sullen  eyes  were  brimming  full, 
but  his  head  was  up  and  his  sturdy  shoulders  were  man- 
fully braced.  She  was  sitting  erect,  and  her  eyes  were 
shining;  a  flush  came  up  and  died  away  across  her  pas- 
sionate cheek.  "A  foolish,  stubborn  fellow,"  she  said, 
"but  not  afraid  to  fight  well,  nor  to  fight  fairly.  I 
would  folk  need  not  fight ;  yet  it  seems  they  must.  Nay, 
there;  I  should  myself,  with  a  right  good  will,  for  any 
good  reasons." 

So  saying,  she  snapped  her  spun  thread  and,  turning 
to  the  hour-glass,  said:  "Run,  thou  senseless,  sandy 
globe ;  thou  hast  no  heart  nor  care  for  any  one,  nor  tears, 
nor  laughter."  Then  she  listened  a  moment  to  the 
sound  in  the  streets,  a  noise  of  men's  feet  going  away. 
**A  foolish,  stubborn,  honest  fellow,"  she  repeated, 
* '  God  keep  him ! ' '  but  she  never  saw  Dirck  Storm  again. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE   RISING   OP   THE   MOHEGANS 

BUT  though  a  little  time  of  peace  had  come  to  Bar- 
naby  Lee,  it  was  anything  but  a  time  of  peace  that 
had  come  to  New  Amsterdam. 

On  a  morning  at  the  end  of  July,  between  St.  James's 
and  St.  Anne's  days,  when  everything  was  so  quiet  that 
the  city  seemed  asleep,  when  the  mill-sails  twirled  in  the 
sea-breeze,  yet  even  they  creaked  softly,  and  the  shadows 
of  the  eaves  hung  down  like  a  cloak  upon  the  walls,  there 
came  a  crying  out  up  the  Bowery  road,  and  a  man  white 
with  dust  came  spurring  his  horse  down  the  hill.  "The 
savages  have  risen ! "  he  cried,  as  he  passed  the  city  gate. 
"The  Mohegans  are  up  beyond  Claverack,  and  are 
butchering  the  people ! ' '  He  went  spurring  on,  with  his 
horse  nearly  falling  under  him  from  exhaustion. 

There  was  hurrying  in  the  streets,  and  crying  in  the 
houses ;  white-faced  burghers  came  running  out,  shouting, 
and  staring  after  the  messenger  as  he  lashed  and  urged 
his  weary  steed  across  the  market-field  to  the  fort. 

Gerrit  Van  Sweringen  gathered  his  cattle  together 
as  soon  as  the  tidings  reached  him,  left  them  in  charge 
of  his  herders  at  a  steading  on  Long  Island,  and  galloping 

244 


The  Rising  of  the  Mohegans    245 

to  the  ferry  at  the  top  of  his  horse's  speed,  crossed  in- 
stantly to  the  town. 

' '  Well  come ;  well  come ! ' '  cried  Stuyvesant,  as  the  en- 
voy hurried  in.  "Well  come,  mynheer;  we  need  thee 
again ! "  As  he  spoke  he  caught  up  his  pistols  and  belt, 
and  took  down  his  sword  from  the  armory.  "What! 
hither,  Joseph ! "  he  shouted.  '  *  Fetch  me  my  jacket  and 
breast-piece ;  find  me  a  strap  for  my  steel  cap ;  do  not  be 
80  slow ! ' ' 

Then,  as  he  hurried  to  and  fro,  gathering  his  arms  to- 
gether and  making  ready  for  a  journey,  he  continued: 
"Mynheer  Van  Sweringen,  I  have  just  had  word  from 
Kiliaen  Van  Rensselaer  that  the  savages  have  arisen.  Jan 
Tyssen  Van  de  Langendyck,  the  trumpeter  from  Fort 
Orange,  hath  just  come  down  by  the  Mohawk  trail,  bring- 
ing the  news  to  me.  The  Mohegans  beyond  the  Win- 
terberg,  set  on  by  the  English,  have  overrun  the  country 
east  of  Rensselaerwyck,  have  slaughtered  the  cattle  at 
Greenbush,  and  falling  on  Claverack  village,  have  burned 
the  house  of  Abraham  Staets,  with  his  wife  and  two  ser- 
vants in  it,  have  slain  him  and  a  neighboring  farmer, 
whose  name  is  not  reported,  and  have  plundered  their 
boweries.  The  Mohawks  have  given  them  battle,  but  are 
repulsed  with  heavy  slaughter,  and  the  colonists  at  Fort 
Orange  implore  us  for  assistance,  and  for  my  advice  and 
presence  in  these  so  great  and  sudden  straits.  Joseph," 
he  called  loudly,  "Joseph,  go  tell  the  gunner  to  box  me 
sixty  firelock  matches,  to  parcel  me  out  some  gun-flints, 
to  load  three  hundred  bandoleers,  and  to  hurry  them  all 


246  Barnaby  Lee 

down  to  the  landing  and  give  them  in  charge  of  Maet 
Seen,  the  skipper  of  the  Trouw." 

"M3mheer,  I  must  go  to  Fort  Orange,"  he  said;  "the 
colonists  call  and  I  cannot  refuse.  Yet  I  scarcely  dare 
to  go,  though  the  need  is  imperative.  A  young  man  by 
the  name  of  Lord  hath  brought  me  word  from  Boston 
that  an  English  fleet  is  expected  there,  with  troops  and 
armament,  to  reduce  this  port  to  the  English  crown,  and 
to  seize  New  Netherland, "  * 

"What!"  exclaimed  Van  Sweringen,  "still  harping 
upon  that  string?  Why,  Governor  Charles  Calvert  him- 
self assured  me  that  there  should  be  no  invasions. ' ' 

"Upon  his  part,  he  promised.  This  is  not  his  part. 
King  Charles  hath  granted  the  Duke  of  York  the  coast 
and  all  its  islands,  from  Connecticut  to  Maryland." 

"It  is  not  his  to  grant." 

"He  will  make  it  his  if  he  can." 

* '  But  there  is  peace ! ' ' 

"I  told  thee  once  to  make  thy  breakfast  on  it.  The 
English  are  determined  to  have  these  lands,  by  hook  or 
by  crook,  fair  means  or  foul. ' ' 

"But  thou  wilt  resist?" 

* '  To  the  last ;  but,  alack !  with  what  resistance  ?  They 
will  bowl  my  garrison  over  like  a  row  of  toppling  nine- 
pins. We  are  a  house  divided  against  ourselves,  myn- 
heer; we  cannot  stand.  The  West  India  Company's 
credit  is  gone;  they  have  lost  thirty  thousand  guilders; 
the  States-General  will  not  hearken  to  me;  the  burghers 
will  not  obey  me.    Of  fifteen  hundred  people  here,  not 


The  Rising  of  the  Mohegans    247 

one  will  lift  his  hand  to  render  me  assistance,  or  to  aid  in 
his  own  defense.  Things  which  should  have  been  done 
four  months  ago  stand  unfinished,  as  if  it  were  a  holiday 
instead  of  a  day  of  judgment.  I  summoned  the  burgo- 
meisters  to  fortify  the  city,  requisitioned  Rensselaerwyck 
for  a  loan  of  five  thousand  guilders,  and  sent  to  New 
Amfitel  for  powder,  if  there  were  any  powder  there.  On 
the  heels  of  it  comes  a  message  from  Amsterdam,  from 
the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  saying  that  we  need  fear  noth- 
ing at  all  from  the  Duke  of  York  and  his  fleet;  that  it 
is  but  coming  to  set  up  the  church  of  King  Charles  in  the 
English  colonies.  Ach !  the  blind  folly !  Do  they  believe 
such  tales?  Even  idiots  and  simpletons  can  see  through 
a  hole  in  a  millstone.  Nay,  they  do  not  believe  it.  Myn- 
heer, they  do  not  care ;  they  would  trade  us  off  for  three 
beaver-skins,  or  for  a  cargo  of  peppercorns. ' ' 

"But,  your  Excellency,  the  burghers?" 

"Pah!  they  believe  what  the  deputies  say:  'There  is 
no  danger;  't  is  peace,'  and  go  back  to  their  dirty  trad- 
ing. They  will  neither  furnish  me  money  nor  men,  nor 
will  they  fortify  the  city.  Van  Rensselaer  too  hath  re- 
fused me  the  loan;  and  New  Amstel  hath  sent  us  no 
powder.  We  shall  be  taken  like  rats  in  a  trap;  what 
dost  think  of  this?" 

"If  I  were  to  say  what  I  think  of  it,"  replied  Van 
Sweringen,  "I  should  burn  the  end  of  my  tongue. 
What  will  ye  do?" 

"  'T  is  not  what  will  I  do,  but  what  must  I  do, "  said 
Stuyvesant,  bitterly.    "I  must  go  to  Fort  Orange,  what- 


248  Barnaby  Lee 

ever  impend ;  their  need  is  immediate.  With  God  be  the 
rest ;  his  will  be  done ! ' ' 

* '  Amen !    Is  there  aught  I  can  do  ?  " 

"Is  there  aught?  Indeed,  yes.  Canst  go  with  me  to 
Fort  Orange  ?  Somebody  must  go  to  share  the  command ; 
but  there  is  nobody  left  to  go :  Kregier  is  on  Long  Island, 
Dirck  Smidt  on  the  Esopus ;  I  have  no  one  to  aid  me  un- 
less thou  wilt. ' ' 

"Then  will  I,"  replied  Van  Sweringen,  and  laid  his 
hand  on  his  sword.    "I  will  go  where  the  colony  calls." 

"Well  spoken;  well  done!"  said  Stuyvesant.  "I  can 
say  no  more,  mynheer;  there  is  no  time  for  parleying; 
we  must  be  off  at  the  turn  of  the  morning  tide. ' ' 

At  daybreak,  with  the  turning  tide,  they  were  off  for 
the  frontier,  and  at  their  backs  went  forty  men,  one  half 
the  garrison,  soldiery  used  to  hard  campaigning,  who 
never  grumbled  nor  flinched,  but  only  smoked  their 
pipes  the  more  when  the  food  ran  short,  and  would  fight 
like  forty  demons. 

When  they  were  gone,  New  Amsterdam  fell  back  to 
her  daily  round  as  if  the  blue  hills  in  the  north  were  bar- 
riers of  peace. 

The  mill-sails  twirled  in  the  summer  wind,  and  the 
shadows  of  the  eaves  seemed  fallen  asleep  on  the  walls. 
From  morn  till  night  the  days  ran  by  in  sweet  tranquil- 
lity. All  day  the  rose-cheeked  girls,  with  gray  eyes  as 
bright  as  their  water-jars  of  gleaming  brass,  came  and 
went  from  the  market-field  well,  beyond  the  old  fort  gate ; 
the  little  Dutch  boys  trotted  by,  along  the  dusty  roads, 


The  Rising  of  the  Mohegans    249 

with  whirligigs  of  paper  made  from  their  daily  exer- 
cises, or  thrashed  blue  tops  through  peaceful  laues  in 
grave  serenity.  The  snow-white  linen  bleached  on  the 
grass  by  the  pond  upon  the  hill ;  the  fruit-trees  whispered 
over  the  roofs,  and  dropped  blue  windfalls  on  the  tiles; 
among  the  quiet  houses  in  the  purlieus  of  the  town  the 
sunlit  gardens  basked  in  plenitude.  Thus  the  untroubled 
time  sped  by, 

A  fortnight  passed,  so  calm,  so  fair,  so  careless  and 
serene,  that  the  burghers  of  New  Amsterdam,  with  all 
their  apprehensions  lulled,  put  by  their  ancient  fears. 
Trouble  seemed  a  stranger,  peril  remote,  war  impossi- 
ble. The  rivers  went  whispering  out  to  the  sea,  the  bay 
lay  blue  before  the  town,  bright  as  with  a  myriad  danc- 
ing sword-blades ;  the  busy  little  city  went  its  busy  little 
way,  and  the  summer  sun  lay  over  it  all,  a  flood  of 
golden  glory. 

But  on  the  night  of  the  15th  of  August,  at  the  close  of 
a  long,  hot  day,  as  Barnaby  Lee  sat  in  the  windmill  loft, 
with  his  feet  dangling  carelessly  over  the  sill,  the  herring- 
boat  of  Cors  Roelandsen,  the  deep-sea  fisherman,  came 
in  from  the  grounds  off  Sandy  Hook  like  a  crippled 
water-beetle. 

The  wind  had  gone  down  with  the  sun,  and  the  bay 
lay  smooth  as  oil,  the  water  glowing  in  the  dusk  like  a 
mirror  of  polished  copper. 

The  boat  crept  slowly  in  to  the  anchorage,  a  black, 
laggard  hulk,  for  the  crew  were  working  her  in  with 
ttweeps,  and  a  herring-boat  is  heavy.     Two  men  were 


250  Barnaby  Lee 

pulling  on  one  side,  and  one  upon  the  other.  The  two 
would  pull  a  long,  slow  stroke,  and  then  rest  upon  their 
oars,  that  they  might  not  too  much  out-pull  their  mate 
who  was  pulling  alone  against  them.  Cors  Roelandsen 
lay  in  the  stern  of  his  boat  with  a  cruelly  broken  head. 

As  soon  as  their  weary  tongues  could  speak,  the  fisher- 
men told  their  story. 

They  had  been  taken  by  an  English  ship,  which  they 
judged  to  be  a  privateer,  as  they  lay  on  the  fishing- 
ground.  Their  net  had  been  cut  to  pieces,  their  fish 
taken  from  them.  * '  And  ye  see  what  they  did  unto  me, ' ' 
said  Cors,  with  the  blood  running  down  his  cheek.  ' '  Well, 
they  said  I  might  deem  it  a  mercy  that  they  did  not  cut 
my  throat!  They  are  coming  to  take  New  Amsterdam. 
The  Duke  of  York's  fleet  is  behind  them;  the  admiral's 
ship  of  thirty-six  guns  is  lying  at  anchor  in  Nyack  Bay ; 
the  vice-admiral 's  ship  of  forty-two  guns  is  coming  from 
Gardiner's  Point,  and  with  her  comes  the  rear-admiral's 
ship  and  a  transport  of  sixteen  guns,  with  three  com- 
panies of  the  King's  soldiers,  and  volunteers  from  Vir- 
ginia. They  say  they  will  take  Fort  Amsterdam  and  tear 
the  town  into  shreds!" 


CHAPTER  XXX 


NEW   AMSTERDAM   BESIEGED 


A  WISE  man,  long  since  dead,  has  said  that  life  and 
liberty  when  safe  are  very  little  thought  of,  be- 
cause they  are  taken  as  matters  of  course;  but  let  them 
be  once  endangered,  and  they  are  instantly  overrated. 
At  sight  of  the  blood  on  Cors  Roelandsen's  face,  and  by 
the  intelligence  he  bore,  New  Amsterdam  was  awakened 
as  if  by  a  thunderclap,  and  all  the  town  seemed  instantly 
taken  by  frenzied  dismay. 

The  arms  of  the  windmill  were  made  fast,  so  that  they 
stood  erect  like  a  cross,  a  warning  to  the  entire  country- 
side that  the  enemy  was  at  hand;  and  Jochem  Hart,  on 
the  fastest  horse  from  Mynheer  Van  Cortlandt's  stable, 
was  despatched  in  a  flying  cloud  of  dust  up  the  trail  into 
the  wilderness,  his  steel  cap  glancing  over  the  hill-tops, 
lit  by  the  fading  gleam  of  the  sky.  "Return,  in  God's 
name,"  was  the  message  he  bore;  "the  enemy  is  upon 
us ! "  And  far  away  in  the  troubled  north  was  the  sturdy 
old  patriot  Peter  Stuyvesant. 

Then  the  burghers  climbed  to  their  roofs,  and  stood 
upon  the  gables,  staring  away  toward  Nyack,  where  the 
English  frigate  lay,  or  wrung  their  trembling  hands  au^ 

261 


252  Barnaby  Lee 

walked  the  streets  in  impotent  despair.  The  throngs  in 
the  crowded  taverns,  with  black  bottles  and  hot  schnapps, 
grew  loud  with  patriotic  rage  and  thick,  tremendous 
tones,  calculated  to  fill  a  foe  with  dread,  if  he  could  only 
hear  them.  But  it  was  seven  miles  to  Nyack,  and  the  foe 
remained  unaffrighted.  At  dawn  the  frigate's  topsails 
hung  against  the  southern  sky,  a  little  patch  of  orange 
in  a  mist  of  smoky  rose  and  ashes,  without  a  sound  or 
motion,  like  a  mute,  unspoken  threat. 

Six  days  of  dumb  dismay  sped  by ;  it  seemed  that  they 
would  never  end.  Then  the  Director-General  came. 
There  was  a  crying  out  at  the  landing-place,  a  running 
in  the  streets ;  the  fort  blazed  bright  with  torches.  Stuy- 
vesant  was  come. 

"Oh,  the  time  that  is  lost— the  golden,  precious  time!" 
he  groaned.  "It  will  never  come  back — no,  never, 
never ! ' '  and  he  wrung  his  strong  brown  hands.  He  had 
come  down  by  yacht  from  Fort  Orange,  leaving  Van 
Sweringen  behind  him,  battling  with  the  Mohegans  in 
the  forest  beyond  Beverwyck. 

Before  another  night  came,  the  entire  English  fleet  lay 
at  anchor  off  New  Utrecht.  News  came  in  as  thick  and 
fast  as  rain  upon  the  roof.     Deeds  transpired  faster. 

The  burgomeisters  were  convened ;  the  Nine  were  called 
into  council ;  spies  were  sent  by  sea  and  land  to  Milford 
and  Westchester.  Dirck  Helleyne,  the  woodman,  with  his 
two  half-breed  sons,  was  sent  as  far  east  as  the  Duke's 
trees,  though  that  was  no  station  then,  to  apprehend  any 
English  who  might  be  lurking  in  the  forest.    Stuyvesant 


New  Amsterdam  Besieged   253 

sent  to  the  villages  on  the  west  end  of  Long  Island,  ask- 
ing their  assistance.  But  the  villagers  replied  that  they 
could  not  leave  their  families  to  the  mercy  of  the  English, 
nor  their  homes  to  be  destroyed  by  flames ;  he  might  have 
no  assistance  from  them.  Jan  Van  der  Grift,  the  cor- 
poral, who  had  gone  to  Jamaica  and  Flatbush,  came  back 
dripping  from  head  to  foot,  and  with  blood  upon  his 
clothing;  he  had  been  set  upon  by  the  English  at  Flat- 
bush,  beaten,  stunned,  and  thrown  into  the  horse-pond. 
"The  farmers  have  been  forbidden,"  he  said,  "to  fur- 
nish either  supplies  or  aid  to  the  fort,  on  pain  of  having 
their  property  plundered,  and  their  houses  burned  over 
their  heads ! ' '  Hearing  which.  Derrick  Jansen,  the  black- 
smith, went  and  hanged  himself  in  his  stable,  for  fear  of 
being  slain  by  the  English.  That  night,  Claes  Verkaeck, 
the  coast-trader,  was  taken,  with  his  sloop  and  its  crew, 
by  a  troop  from  an  English  frigate,  as  he  was  coming 
up  from  Achter  Koll. 

Thereupon  Stuyvesant  sent  a  commission  to  inquire 
of  the  English  what  they  meant  by  these  violent  deeds, 
and  by  their  presence  without  permission  in  waters  ruled 
by  the  Dutch. 

To  this  the  English  commander,  Colonel  Richard 
Nicolls,  a  man  of  stately  presence  and  a  fair,  open  face, 
replied  in  blunt,  soldierly  terms  that  he  was  come  to 
reduce  the  port  to  the  English  crown,  in  the  name  of 
King  Charles  of  England,  and  of  James,  Duke  of  York, 
to  whom  the  province  was  granted.  He  demanded  the 
immediate  surrender  of  Fort  Amsterdam  and  the  town. 


2  54  Barnaby  Lee 


Stuyresant  protested,  in  the  name  of  the  States-Gen- 
eral, that  the  King  of  England  had  no  right  to  grant  New 
Netherland  to  the  Duke  of  York,  or  to  any  one,  nor  to 
send  armed  ships  against  her ;  that  the  Dutch  had  bought 
the  country,  and  had  held  it  for  forty  years ;  that  Eng- 
land and  the  Netherlands  were  at  peace  one  with  the 
other ;  that  his  orders  were  to  continue  in  and  to  maintain 
that  peace,  and  that,  on  his  soul,  before  God  and  man,  he 
would  maintain  that  peace,  by  force  of  arms  and  very 
war,  while  he  had  a  man  left  who  could  stand  to  a  gun, 
or  one  stone  upon  another;  and  in  case  that  Richard 
Nicolls  did  by  force  of  arms,  being  strong,  in  any  wise 
molest  or  seek  to  dispossess  the  Dutch,  it  would  be  an 
act  of  unjust  violence  and  a  breach  of  the  treaty  of 
peace  solemnly  sworn  and  agreed  to  by  his  Majesty, 
King  Charles.  As  for  himself,  he  feared  nothing  but 
what  a  just  and  merciful  God  should  see  fit  to  lay  upon 
him ;  and  that,  by  God 's  grace,  in  the  olden  time,  a  small 
force,  armed  with  right,  had  more  than  once  prevailed 
against  the  armies  of  the  mighty  in  the  wrong;  and  to 
Colonel  Richard  Nicolls,  ay,  or  to  any  other,  he  abso- 
lutely denied  the  right  of  King  Charles  II  of  England 
to  send  forces  against  New  Amsterdam, 

Colonel  Nicolls  at  once  replied  that  he  came  not  to 
argue  King  Charles's  rights,  nor  to  consider  the  claims 
of  the  Dutch ;  he  cared  not  whether  they  had  or  had  not 
either  title  or  right  to  the  province ;  he  left  such  quibbles 
to  the  King,  and  simply  obeyed  his  orders.  "Had  his 
Majesty  bade  me  take  Amsterdam,  in  the  heart  of  Hoi- 


New  Amsterdam  Besieged   255 

land,"  he  said,  "I  should  not  have  made  a  scruple  about 
undertaking  the  business :  I  leave  the  justification  of  my 
doings  to  my  masters.  I  am  sent  to  reduce  New  Amster- 
dam, and  I  shall  certainly  do  so;  ye  may  tell  your  gov- 
ernor this,  sirs,  with  my  compliments ! ' ' 

Then  Peter  Stuyvesant  walked  the  floor,  with  his  hands 
so  clenched  that  his  finger-nails  cut  into  his  palms;  by 
times  his  head  was  lifted  up  and  his  eyes  seemed  on  fire ; 
by  times  his  chin  sank  into  his  breast :  for  he  was  in  des- 
perate straits. 

He  had  only  ninety  soldiers,  though  he  had  ordered  in 
his  outposts ;  and  there  were  neither  trained  artillerymen 
nor  gunners,  save  one,  in  the  fort.  The  fort  itself  had 
been  built  merely  as  a  retreat  against  savages,  and  never 
had  been  calculated  to  withstand  the  assault  of  a  dis- 
ciplined army.  It  mounted  but  twenty-four  cannon, 
some  of  them  only  demi-cartoons,  and  was  unprotected 
by  palisades  or  ditches  anywhere.  Its  walls  were  no  more 
than  a  bank  of  earth  some  eight  or  ten  feet  high,  com- 
manded on  the  north  and  west  at  less  than  pistol-shot 
by  hills  so  high  that  from  their  tops  could  be  seen  the 
feet  of  the  men  in  the  fort  and  on  the  floors  of  the  corner- 
bastions.  And  more,  the  fort  walls  were  almost  encircled 
by  dwellings  which  overtopped  them,  and  the  cellars  from 
these  buildings  ran  to  within  a  rod  of  the  fort,  which 
could  thus,  with  little  trouble,  at  once  be  galled  by  a 
cross-fire,  escaladed  and  captured,  or  undermined  and 
blown  up. 

Both  sides  of  the  city  lay  open ;  the  cannon  of  the  Eng- 


256  Barnaby  Lee 

lish  fleet  could  rake  it  from  face  to  face;  and  its  only 
protection  on  the  north  side,  in  event  of  a  land  attack, 
was  an  unfinished  palisade,  already  half  rotten,  which 
could  not  have  stopped  a  goat. 

There  was  little  hope  of  sustaining  a  siege,  none  at  all 
of  withstanding  a  storm ;  yet  Peter  Stuyvesant  made  up 
his  mind  that  he  would  defend  the  town. 

"If  Fort  Amsterdam  and  the  city  fall,  the  colony  is 
lost;  how  then  shall  I  have  fulfilled  my  trust?  Nay,  I 
will  stand  the  assault, ' '  he  said,  and  forthwith  sought  to 
bring  into  play  every  practical  means  of  defense;  for 
though  he  knew  all  hope  of  the  sort  to  be  futile,  he  still 
hoped  against  hope  for  relief,  still  hoped  that  the  right 
might  in  some  wise  prevail,  and,  for  the  sake  of  his  duty 
and  his  honor,  as  he  saw  them,  he  prepared  to  defend  the 
city. 

He  summoned  the  burgomeisters,  and  demanded  a  loan 
of  five  thousand  guilders,  giving  for  security  a  mortgage 
upon  his  cannon.  He  collected  bundles  of  willow  withes 
and  osiers  from  the  marshes,  and  summoning  the  basket- 
makers  from  the  neighboring  village  of  Haarlem,  set 
tnem  to  weaving  gabions  with  which  to  establish  a  wall 
upon  the  crest  of  the  seaward  rampart,  to  protect  his 
artillerymen  from  musket  and  harquebus  fire.  A  squad 
from  the  garrison  fetched  earth  from  the  fields  to  fill  and 
to  bank  the  gabions  as  fast  as  the  weavers  finished  them. 
Every  third  man  from  the  city  was  summoned  to  work 
on  the  palisade;  new  guards  were  set  at  the  town  gate; 
a  breastwork  was  begun. 


New  Amsterdam  Besieged  2^y 

The  fortifications  were  pushed  forward  with  desper- 
ate energy.  Men  who  had  seldom  sweat  before  ran 
streams  of  perspiration  as  they  labored  in  the  trenches 
or  wrought  on  the  palisade.  The  odor  of  freshly  cut 
cedar  and  the  smell  of  the  swampy  ground,  which  the 
trench  and  the  breastwork  traversed,  filled  the  city  from 
end  to  end. 


IT 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE   BELEAGUERED   CITY 

MEANWHILE  the  vessels  of  the  English  fleet  had 
anchored  below  the  Narrows,  cutting  off  all  oom- 
munication  between  the  North  River  and  the  sea.  The 
squadron  consisted  of  four  ships,  carrying  ninety-four 
guns  among  them,  and  three  companies  of  the  king's 
regulars,  perhaps  four  hundred  and  fifty  men,  to  which 
were  now  added  militia  from  New  Haven  and  Long 
Island  who  had  joined  the  attacking  squadron  at  Nyack. 
The  English  colonial  governors  from  Virginia  to  Maine 
had  been  summoned  to  furnish  both  vessels  and  men  to 
assist  in  reducing  New  Netherland ;  but,  as  yet,  one  ves- 
sel only  had  come,  that  one  from  Maryland,  a  privateer, 
manned  by  a  cutthroat-visaged  crew,  and  aught  but  re- 
spectable. Reinforcements,  both  horse  and  foot,  were 
flocking  in  by  land  from  the  northern  colonies,  eager  to 
storm  Fort  Amsterdam  and  to  give  the  town  over  to 
pillage.  New  Amsterdam  being  the  richest  port  upon  the 
Atlantic  coast. 

There  was  lying  in  the  harbor  a  little  trading-vessel, 
which  carried  a  battery  of  ten  small  ship's  guns,  and  a 
crew  of  no  more  than  fifteen  men.    Her  skipper,  Derrick 

258 


The  Beleaguered  City       259 

Jacobsen  De  Vries,  brother  to  a  brave  Dutch  admiral 
renowned  for  his  gallantry,  petitioned  the  burgomeisters 
that  they  let  him  go  out  to  fight  the  Englishmen, 

' '  Their  whole  fleet  ? ' '  they  cried. 

' '  I  have  not  much  choice ;  I  can  only  meet  them  as  they 
come,"  he  replied. 

' '  Why,  man,  thou  art  mad ! ' '  they  said. 

"What  if  I  am?"  said  Derrick  De  Vries.  ''Give  me 
powder  and  men  to  handle  my  ship  while  my  crew  and  I 
fight,  and  we  shall  give  an  account  of  ourselves. ' ' 

"You  have  only  ten  cannon,  small  gotelingen;  their 
admiral 's  vessel  has  thirty-six  guns. ' ' 

"Then  I  must  fire  mine  thrice  as  fast  as  the  admiral 
fires  his.  That  is  not  much  of  a  job,"  said  De  Vries. 
"The  English  are  very  slow.  And  we  need  reckon  only 
eighteen  guns,  for  half  of  them  will  be  pointed  to  the 
opposite  side,  and  we  shall  not  be  there.  If  I  remain 
in  your  harbor  I  shall  be  taken,  at  any  rate.  I  would 
rather  blow  up  in  the  air,  mynheeren,  than  stay  here  to 
be  caught  like  a  cow  in  the  mud.  If  I  could  send  the 
admiral  to  supper  with  Jan  Codfish  I  should  die  with 
more  glory  than  ever  was  won  peddling  skins  and 
cheeses. ' ' 

But  they  would  not  let  the  brave  fellow  go.  Instead, 
they  began  to  lose  courage  as  they  counted  over  the  des- 
perate odds  against  the  city,  and  began  to  ponder  in  their 
hearts  what  terms  they  might  get  from  the  English. 

Now  when  Colonel  Richard  Nicolls  first  demanded  the 
surrender  of  the  city,  he  accompanied  the  summons  witb 


2  6o  Barnaby  Lee 


an  alluring  proclamation  designed  to  influence  toward 
surrender  all  who  were  predisposed  to  peace  or  at  all  in- 
clined to  preserve  themselves  at  the  expense  of  a  colony, 
and  in  this  proclamation  guaranteed  to  the  inhabitants 
safe  possession  of  their  property,  their  lives  and  liveli- 
hoods, on  condition  that  they  submit  to  English  rule 
and  take  the  king 's  oath  of  allegiance. 

John  Winthrop  of  Connecticut,  who  was  with  the  Eng- 
lish fleet,  wrote  also  to  Stuyvesant  and  to  the  Burgo- 
meisters'  Council,  strongly  recommending  a  surrender, 
indeed,  advising  it.  But  Stuyvesant  was  determined 
to  stand  for  honor  and  duty 's  sake,  and  fearing  that  these 
easy  terms,  and  the  very  prospect  of  safety,  would  under- 
mine what  courage  still  existed  in  the  town,  and  dissuade 
the  timorous  burghers  from  their  showing  of  defense,  sent 
neither  the  proclamation  nor  letter  to  the  Council,  and 
when  they  demanded  the  English  terms,  refused  to  make 
them  known.  The  burgomeisters  in  council  demanded 
the  English  conditions :  * '  We  have  a  right  to  know  what 
terms  are  offered  us  in  surrender, ' '  they  said.  "It  is  our 
lives  and  properties  which  will  be  lost  in  case  of  assault, 
and  ye  have  no  right  to  withhold  the  terms  that  are 
offered  to  our  city.  We  would  willingly  risk  our  lives, 
your  Excellency,  if  there  were  the  slightest  hope  of  suc- 
cess; but  desperately  to  rush  a  handful  of  half-armed 
citizens  and  untrained  serving-men  upon  the  pikes  of 
three  brigades  would  be  the  sheerest  madness.  We  came 
here  to  settle,  to  build,  to  trade,  to  profit,  and  to  thrive, 
and  not  to  fight  the  English." 


"'ABE  YE  AliL  STABK   I>EAD  TO   HONOR}      SHAME   ON   YOU,  SHAME !* 
HE  EXCLAIMED." 


The  Beleaguered  City        261 

"And  would  ye  turn  your  very  coats  for  profit,"  cried 
the  angry  Director-General,  "are  ye  all  stark  dead  to 
honor?  Shame  on  yoli,  shame!"  he  exclaimed.  He 
struck  one  man  across  the  mouth,  who  insisted  upon  sub- 
mission. 

"Cowards,"  he  cried,  "cowards!"  and  the  furious 
froth  from  his  mouth  ran  down  on  his  coat.  "Would  ye 
sell  your  souls  for  a  beaver-skin  ? ' ' 

But  though,  perhaps,  he  shamed  them,  he  could  not 
make  them  brave.  They  redemanded  the  English  terms 
and  Governor  Winthrop's  letter,  and  continued  their 
importunity  in  spite  of  his  angry  refusal,  until  in  a  sud- 
den fit  of  wrath  and  bitter  exasperation,  Stuyvesant  tore 
Governor  Winthrop's  letter  to  shreds.  Against  this  act 
and  its  consequences  the  burgomeisters  protested,  washed 
their  hands  of  complicity,  and  departed  in  high  dudgeon. 
Thus  the  town  was  divided  against  itself  at  the  very  time 
when  it  most  needed  inseparable  union. 

That  day  the  ships  of  the  English  fleet  took  a  coaster 
named  the  Princess  as  she  attempted  to  pass  to  the  Nave- 
sinks  with  cattle  from  Long  Island.  They  fell  upon  her 
suddenly  as  she  lay  at  the  landing-place,  and  very  quickly 
took  her,  with  all  the  cattle  in  her.  They  captured  also 
the  cattle  remaining  on  Long  Island,  with  the  serving- 
men  and  herders,  except  a  few  who  saved  themselves  by 
flight,  the  English  in  pursuit.  And  these  were  Van  Swer- 
ingen's  cattle,  which  he  had  purchased  at  the  Brooklyn 
fair  for  the  colony  at  New  Amstel,  and  they  were  bought 
with  his  brother's  money.    That  same  day,  likewise,  the 


262  Barnaby  Lee 

English  overhauled  a  fly-boat  from  New  Amstel,  bring- 
ing powder  to  the  city,  and  fired  a  round  shot  through 
her ;  whereat  the  Dutch  crew  ran  her  ashore  and  fled  into 
the  woods,  closely  pursued  by  the  English  with  hangers, 
dirks,  and  pistols.  But  the  Dutch  made  good  their  es- 
cape in  the  forest,  and  came  to  New  Amsterdam  with  the 
disheartening  news. 

Then  fear  began  to  spread  through  the  town,  and  the 
powerful  and  the  wealthy  began  to  pack  up  their  goods 
and  to  send  them  out  to  Haarlem,  and  it  was  covertly  re- 
ported that  Juffrouw  Van  Ruyter,  the  Secretary's  wife, 
had  escaped  from  the  city  in  the  night,  with  Nicolas 
Meyer 's  wife,  and  had  fled  to  the  house  of  a  cousin,  in  the 
village  of  Overen,  for  safety.  When  this  report  came 
to  the  little  burghers,  they  began  to  say,  "Ah,  yes;  and 
this  being  so,  what  of  us?  The  rich  and  the  great  can 
look  out  for  themselves,  but  what  's  to  become  of  us?" 
Jan  De  Moellin  put  off  in  his  boat  to  escape  to  his  bro- 
ther's house  on  Long  Island;  but  at  noon  he  came  back 
with  a  broken  head  and  one  side  of  his  boat  staved  in. 
The  English  had  met  him  at  the  shore,  laid  hold  upon  all 
of  his  household  goods,  crushed  his  boat,  and  beat  him. 
He  said  that  the  whole  Long  Island  shore  was  guarded 
by  English  regulars. 

At  this  there  was  roaring  in  the  streets,  and  presently 
still  wilder  dismay ;  for  many,  beginning  eagerly  to  seek 
for  opportunities  of  escape,  venturing  forth  from  the  city 
in  opposite  directions,  returned  more  quickly  than  they 
went  forth,  and  in  increasing  agitation,  for  they  found 


The  Beleaguered  City        263 

that  the  English  had  established  a  guard  at  every  point 
of  emergence.  The  ferries  were  closed,  the  highways 
blocked,  the  river-shores  patrolled.  New  Amsterdam 
was  shut  in  as  if  surrounded  by  a  noose ;  there  was  no  get- 
ting in  or  out  of  the  town  unless  upon  wings,  like  the 
pigeons;  they  were  pent  up  like  rats  in  a  trap.  Those 
who  before  had  only  roared  now  began  to  pray. 

Then  word  came  in  from  Brooklyn  that  the  English 
troops  were  landing;  and  a  fisherman  from  Gravesend 
ran  wildly  up  and  down  the  strand,  crying :  * '  They  are 
coming !  They  are  coming !  The  French  are  coming  with 
them  to  tear  the  city  to  pieces  and  to  slaughter  us  all ! " 
No  one  could  stop  his  mouth.  And  it  was  learned  that 
there  were  six  hundred  New  England  volunteers,  and  that 
it  was  true  there  were  Frenchmen  with  them,  and  rene- 
gade privateersmen.  Then  the  Dutch  cursed  the  French 
and  the  English  from  Connecticut;  and  the  poor  began 
to  bury  their  little  valuables  in  the  earth  of  their  garden- 
plots,  hoping  thus  to  evade  the  pillaging  hands  of  the 
heartless  soldiery. 

At  noon  the  weather-browned  topsails  of  an  English 
man-of-war  came  rising  in  the  offing  from  behind  the 
Long  Island  hills,  and  slowly  approached  the  harbor. 
After  the  first  came  a  second  ship,  hull  down  toward  the 
south;  after  the  second  followed  a  third,  and  stood 
against  the  sky;  and  after  the  third  a  fourth  came  into 
view,  just  as  the  sun  was  going  down. 

From  down  the  bay  came  now  and  then  the  dull  boom 
of  a  cannon,  rolling  heavily  through  the  darkness;  a 


264  Barnaby  Lee 

fisher  boat  or  two  crept  past,  stealing  into  the  river  for 
refuge;  and  when  at  last  the  morning  came,  there,  in 
the  throat  of  the  landlocked  harbor,  lay  the  vessels  of 
the  English  fleet  at  anchor,  like  blue-winged  butterflies 
asleep  upon  a  puddled  road,  with  little  boats  like  beetles 
swiftly  darting  around  them. 

Then  burghers  with  their  wives  and  children  came  to 
the  gate  of  the  fort,  beseeching  the  Director-General 
to  parley. 

'  *  I  would  rather  be  carried  out  dead ! "  he  replied. 

They  begged  him  to  make  no  resistance  that  would 
bring  destruction  upon  them. 

"To  resist  is  to  be  murdered!"  they  said.  "Give  us 
the  English  terms. ' ' 

But  Stuyvesant  would  neither  give  them  the  terms 
nor  consider  the  thought  of  surrender.  "I  will  stand  to 
it  while  I  have  a  man  who  can  fire  a  gun,"  said  he,  and 
hurried  all  preparations  for  desperate  resistance. 

But  disaffection  spread  through  the  town.  As  they 
watched  the  grim  preparations  for  war  the  burghers 
grew  faint  and  fainter  at  heart;  their  fears  increased 
with  the  flying  hours.  Across  the  bay  on  the  sea-wind 
could  be  heard  the  English  drums  beating  about  for  vol- 
unteers among  the  Long  Island  towns;  from  the  distant 
frigates  of  the  fleet  rolled  up  the  booming  of  signal- 
guns.  Bugle-calls,  musket-shots,  the  shouts  of  the  cap- 
tains, came  intermittently  from  the  English  camps  along 
the  Long  Island  shore.  In  vain  the  Director-General 
sought  to  reanimate  the  citizens  to  hurry  the  trench  and 


The  Beleaguered  City       265 

the  palisades,  and  to  push  forward  the  fortifications. 
His  solitary  valor  failed  to  inspire  their  weakening  zeal. 
The  response  to  his  fire  grew  lukewarm.  Their  hearts 
had  gone  out  of  them.  He  was  met  by  complaining  on 
every  side;  they  objected  to  every  proposal.  Among 
themselves  they  began  to  say,  ' '  Ah,  yes ;  the  soldiers  will 
fight.  It  is  their  trade;  they  are  paid  for  it;  they  have 
nothing  to  lose.  But  we,  we  lose  our  property  and 
everything  if  the  city  falls,  let  alone  our  lives.  It  is 
folly  to  offer  resistance. ' '  After  that  they  came  no  more 
to  stand  guard  with  the  men  of  the  garrison,  but  went 
their  ways,  and  had  no  more  heart  in  warlike  prepara- 
tions. 

Then  the  soldiers  fell  to  cursing  and  upbraiding  them 
for  cowards,  and  if  any  dared  to  answer,  beat  him 
roundly  for  his  pains,  and  the  gunner's  mate  struck 
Tennis  De  Kay  in  the  mouth  with  his  dagger-pommel, 
and  knocked  out  all  of  his  front  teeth ;  and  Port-master 
Ellis  Van  Korten's  son  was  taken  up  stunned  from  the 
gutter  and  carried  home  by  his  father's  men. 

* '  Pah ! ' '  said  Martin  Kregier.  * '  We  are  throwing  each 
other  into  the  fire  like  a  parcel  of  drunken  Indians,  and 
the  English  are  doing  all  the  time.  By  day  and  by  night 
they  creep  around  us.  Death  of  my  life,  they  are  no 
sleepyheads!  They  are  eating  us  out  of  our  stronghold 
here  as  the  wandering  rye  eats  the  wheat  from  a  field. 
"We  shall  go  like  a  bursted  bubble. ' ' 

Turning  back  to  his  work,  he  went  on  counting  out  new 
sheets  of  cartridge-paper. 


2  66  Barnaby  Lee 

The  English  had  taken  all  the  cattle  upon  the  Long 
Island  commons,  had  seized  and  slaughtered  all  the  swine, 
had  taken  food  from  the  burghers,  and  now  were  march- 
ing through  the  Six  Dutch  Towns,  armed,  horse  and 
foot,  with  colors  flying,  drums  beating,  and  trumpets 
sounding  defiance,  and  from  the  horse-blocks  were  de- 
claring the  land  to  be  the  King  of  England's. 

Amersfoort,  in  the  Flat  Lands,  Rust-Dorp,  the  Quiet 
Village,  the  French  Protestants  at  Bushwyck,  and  the 
Flemings  at  Heemstede  all  were  come  into  English  power. 
In  New  Amsterdam  the  night  was  filled  with  the  sound 
of  shovels  and  mattocks  as  men  buried  silver  and  moneys 
in  the  earth  of  the  cabbage-gardens.  The  burgher-watch 
no  longer  came  to  the  gates  of  the  fort  to  report,  when  the 
keys  of  the  city  were  brought  in  by  their  captain;  and 
Cors  Hendricksen,  their  drummer,  would  beat  the  call 
no  more. 

"I  have  not  had  my  wages  for  six  months,"  he  said, 
"and  now  I  shall  never  get  them.  What  is  the  use  of  my 
beating  my  drum  when  there  's  nothing  to  come  of  it?" 

Thus,  hour  by  hour,  the  strength  fell  away  from  Peter 
Stuyvesant,  and  on  every  hand  in  whispers  men  began  to 
say,  "Surrender!" 

Yet  nothing  was  further  from  the  mind  of  the  Direc- 
tor-General. Small  souls  with  lower  aims  than  his  might 
suffer  no  great  pain  in  failure,  but  to  a  soul  like  Peter 
Stuyvesant 's,  full  of  a  wild,  fierce  pride,  even  a  prospect 
of  abasement  brought  a  bitterness  like  shame.  To  think 
of  yielding  without  a  blow  all  that  he  felt  himself  bound 


The  Beleaguered  City       267 

to  defend  was  agony.  Knowing  humility  nowhere,  ex- 
cept, perhaps,  before  Heaven,  it  was  harder  for  him  so 
to  humble  himself  than  it  was  to  stand  fast  to  his  cannon 
and  die;  and  to  stand  fast  he  was  determined,  whatever 
be  the  upshot.  He  armed  his  private  servants,  issued 
powder  to  them,  and  made  ready  to  perish  fighting,  if 
that  were  to  be  the  end  of  it  all,  but  to  resist  his  assail- 
ants whether  or  no. 

The  rampart  cannons  were  loaded,  the  breastworks 
cleaned  and  laden  for  war;  the  soldiers  were  busied  all 
morning  fetching  up  tubs  of  cannon-balls  from  the  store- 
house under  the  bastion.  On  the  fort  wall,  facing  the 
harbor,  the  gunner's  squad  sat  all  day,  making  and  load- 
ing cartridges  of  gunny-sack  for  the  cannons,  with  one 
eye  turned  to  the  threatening  fleet  and  the  other  to  the 
powder.  Accustomed  to  obey  without  thought  of  the 
risk,  prepared  to  give  battle  when  called  on  to  fight,  and 
ready  to  follow  their  leader,  they  attended  to  their  duty 
with  coolness  and  skill  and  a  savor  of  reckless  daring  that 
thrilled  even  the  faint-hearted  townsmen,  foolhardy 
though  it  were. 

"Will  ye  fight?"  a  burgher  asked  of  the  gunner. 

' '  Fight  1 ' '  replied  Reyndertsen.  ' '  If  Little  Peter  says 
to  fight  we  will  fight  till  they  gather  us  up." 

"  Do  ye  think  he  will  fight  ? ' ' 

"If  he  had  n't  a  leg  he  would  stand  on  his  head  to 
fight.  The  worse  he  is  off,  the  harder  he  fights.  This  does 
not  look  like  running." 

Indeed,  it  looked  more  like  a  hornets'  nest.    Fort  Am- 


268  Barnaby  Lee 

sterdam  was  humming.  At  one  side  a  squad  with  a  kettle 
of  lead  was  casting  musket-balls,  and  turning  them  hiss- 
ing from  the  molds  into  a  tub  of  water  to  cool ;  another 
was  filling  tar-barrels,  and  hoisting  them  on  poles,  and 
packing  the  iron  wall-baskets  with  pine  knots  for  light 
in  event  of  a  night  attack. 

The  gunner's  men  with  timbers  and  earth  were  mount- 
ing three  falconets,  taken  from  ships  in  the  harbor,  to 
cover  the  gate  and  the  outside  lunette.  "We  shall  say 
'How  do  ye  do?'  to  the  English.  It  will  be  'Good  by' 
to  some ! ' '  they  said. 

And  so  they  labored  on.  At  the  tallow-vat  by  the  kit- 
chens a  squad  was  greasing  pike-staves,  that  they  might 
the  more  easily  go  through  a  body  and  not  be  detained 
by  the  enemy's  clutch.  Others  were  covering  chain-shot 
with  rags  smeared  with  niter,  pitch,  and  pine-tar,  to  set 
the  enemy's  vessels  afire  and  engage  their  crews  with 
the  flames. 

*  *  We  will  give  the  rogues  a  dinner, ' '  they  said,  ' '  which 
they  will  not  have  to  set  on  a  stove  to  keep  warm  until 
they  find  time  to  eat  it ! " 

In  the  armorer's  shop  the  forge  was  glowing,  and  the 
armorer  and  his  apprentices,  with  grimy  leather  aprons 
and  arms  bare  to  the  elbow,  were  welding  new  handles 
to  cutlass-blades,  resetting  the  hooks  of  halberds,  and 
with  file,  chisel,  and  flagon  of  oil  putting  in  working 
order  the  locks  of  hand-guns  and  harquebuses. 

Out  on  the  square  the  forges  with  coals  were  ready  to 
heat  the  cannon-balls  for  discharge  against  the  wooden 


The  Beleaguered  City       269 

ships;  and  the  gunner's  assistant,  spoon  in  hand,  was 
ladling  out  gunpowder. 

"Make  each  grain  of  it  tell,  lads,  as  if  it  were  a 
charge,"  he  said,  "and  put  out  those  pipes,  you  dunder- 
heads. Don't  start  off  to  heaven  before  the  English  send 
you!"  Then  he  hurried  on  to  a  squad  who  were  plaiting 
shot-garlands  of  rope  and  twisting  gun-wads  of  hay. 
' '  Cut  me  some  sods.  The  earth  scours  the  guns,  and  they 
will  need  it, ' '  he  said,  * '  for  the  powder  is  foul. ' ' 

All  morning  dull  reports  came  down  from  the  black- 
smith's forge  in  the  valley,  where  the  gun-barrels  were 
being  tested  in  readiness  for  the  affray.  Two  antique, 
moldy  leather  cannon,  taken  from  the  Swedes,  were  tested 
by  the  armorer  and  sent  to  the  palisades. 

"They  will  stand  a  shot  or  two,"  said  he,  with  a  grin. 
' '  Then  the  English  may  have  them. " 

As  they  wrought,  the  men  were  singing  the  song  of  the 
old  Dutch  cannoneers,  sung  by  the  gunners  of  Maurice 
—the  "Cannon  of  Nassau": 

"  Boom,  pouf ,  boom  !    Awake !    I  hear  the  captain  calling ; 
The  culverins  are  speaking ;  the  battle  has  begun ; 
A  soldier's  death  and  glory  through  the  stricken  field  are  seeking 
For  the  boldest  and  the  bravest.    Up  to  meet  them,  every  one ! 
"  The  man  who  holds  his  life  too  good 
To  risk  at  glory's  call 
Deserves  to  take  his  daily  food 
Behind  a  prison-wall ! 

"But  where,  through  choke  and  sulphur-smoke,  the  hungry  can- 
j  non  bellow, 

The  hero's  cry  rings  through  the  sky !     Ho,  comrades,  every 
one! 


270  Barnaby  Lee 

'T  is  courage  makes  the  soldier,  slinking  cowardice  the  fellow ; 
And  the  brave  wear  glory's  garlands  at  the  setting  of  the  sun! 

"Boom,  pouf,  boom  !     Awake  !     It  is  the  cannon's  bellow. 
Boom,  boom,  boom  !     To  arms  !     The  battle  has  begun. 
If  courage  makes  the  soldier,  and  cowardice  the  fellow, 
We  will  all  wear  glory's  garlands  at  the  setting  of  the  sun  ! " 

Thirty  pounds  of  powder  had  been  dealt  to  the  cannon- 
eer to  blow  the  scale  from  the  demi-cartoons;  which  were 
iron  and  almost  choked  with  rust.  One  of  them  burst 
and  hurled  its  cascabel  over  the  roofs  to  the  Stad  Huis 
square,  luckily  injuring  no  one;  but  before  the  smoke 
from  the  explosion  had  cleared  away  from  the  wall,  the 
gunner's  mate  came  from  the  magazine  with  a  face  as 
gray  as  an  ash-pile. 

"God  save  us,  Jan;  we  are  done  for!"  he  cried. 
"There  is  not  one  fourth  of  the  powder  good,  and  the 
matches  stowed  in  the  bastion  store  are  soaking  and  green 
with  mold." 

The  gunner  ran  to  the  Governor.  "Your  Excellency, 
get  us  some  powder,  in  Heaven 's  name ! "  he  cried.  * '  The 
thousand  pounds  ye  granted  the  burghers  will  not  burn. 
It  hath  lain  for  three  years  in  the  magazine,  and  is  ruined 
with  the  dampness.  I  have  tested  it  all  upon  the  stove, 
and  it  would  not  bum  in  Tophet.  There  are  not  two 
hundred  pounds  fit  for  use.  The  rest  is  utterly  worth- 
less. Get  me  some  powder,  I  beg  ye,  to  shoot  my  cannon 
with.  I  cannot  fire  off  the  wind  by  touching  the  poker 
to  its  tail. ' ' 

"Oh!"  said  Stuyvesant,  bitterly,  "I  begged  them  for 


The  Beleaguered  City        271 

powder,  I  begged  them  long  ago;  but  they  would  send 
none.  I  asked  for  a  ship,  I  asked  for  men;  but  they 
would  send  nothing.  Yet  will  they  hold  me  to  account 
if  I  be  overcome.  Oh,  the  fools !  and  now  it  is  too  late ! 
Go,  search  the  ships  in  the  harbor. ' ' 

"Mynheer,"  said  the  Secretary,  "there  is  no  prece- 
dent for  it." 

"Then  I  will  establish  a  precedent,"  answered  the 
Director-General.  ' '  Corporal  Evarts,  go  search  the  ships, 
and  take  all  the  powder  they  have." 

"This  is  a  high-handed  outrage,"  said  the  captain  of 
the  Eendraght,  as  the  corporal  came  on  board.  '  *  This  is 
a  thing  without  example ! ' ' 

"Then  make  an  example  of  it,  and  eat  it,"  said  the 
corporal.  "I  trow  an  example  would  do  thee  good." 
And  he  took  the  Eendraght's  powder. 

"But  I  have  paid  my  anchorage,"  protested  the  skip- 
per of  the  Pauw. 

"Then  pay  it  again,"  said  the  corporal.  "Ye  can't 
do  a  good  thing  too  often."  At  that  the  skipper  began 
to  swear.  "Here,"  said  the  corporal  to  a  soldier,  "take 
him  away;  he  wearies  me  with  his  language." 

So  the  soldiers  took  the  skipper  and  bundled  him  into 
his  cabin,  locked  the  door  on  him  and  left  him  there,  and 
took  all  the  powder  he  had. 

"Nay,  I  will  give  thee  no  powder,"  quoth  the  master 
of  the  St.  Jacob. 

"Then  I  shall  have  to  help  myself,"  replied  the  cor- 
poral calmly ;  and  when  the  master  objected,  and  it  came 


2^] 2  Barnaby  Lee 


to  a  question  of  force,  they  locked  him  up  in  his  cabin 
also,  and  took  every  grain  of  powder  on  board. 

The  master  poked  his  head  through  the  sky-light.  "I 
am  ruined ! "  he  bellowed. 

"Pah!  stop  that  racket,"  said  the  corporal.  "We  are 
all  in  the  same  boat.  Thou  shalt  not  have  cause  to  feel 
lonely."    Then  he  kissed  his  hand  to  him. 

But  when  he  came  ashore  with  the  powder  the  gunner 
shook  his  head.  "Ach,  it  is  but  a  pipeful,"  he  said.  "It 
will  not  last  two  hours.    I  must  have  more  gunpowder ! ' ' 

Then  Evarts  went  to  the  hunters  in  the  town,  and 
emptied  powder-horns ;  to  the  shop-men  and  the  Mohawk 
traders,  and  en^tied  canisters.  Jan  Snediger,  the  far- 
mer, brought  in  fifty  pounds  he  had  borrowed,  and  Cap- 
tain Kregier  twenty-two  pounds  set  aside  for  blasting. 
Yet,  when  it  all  was  gathered  together,  and  the  gunner 
summed  it  up,  there  was  not  enough  for  half  a  day, 

'  *  If  the  shooting  begins  in  the  morning, ' '  said  he,  ' '  we 
shall  run  out  of  powder  by  noon. ' ' 

With  that  he  began  to  grow  graver,  to  throw  back  his 
head  and  to  pull  his  mustache,  and  his  eyes  had  a  light 
in  them.  He  had  been  in  lost  battles,  and  knew  what  fol- 
lowed; but  he  was  not  afraid.  What  powder  there  was 
he  divided  in  parcels  among  the  captains,  to  the  leaders 
of  the  burgher-guard,  and  to  the  garrison  konstabels  in 
fair  shares ;  but  he  kept  the  greater  part  for  his  artillery. 
The  cannon  at  the  palisades  might  as  well  have  been  logs ; 
there  was  no  powder  for  them.  The  eyes  of  the  soldiers 
grew  grave ;  the  color-bearer  made  his  will. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 


NEW   PEEIL 


THE  weather  had  grown  intensely  hot.  The  snu  came 
up  like  a  drop  of  blood  and  went  down  like  a  ball 
of  red-hot  copper;  the  wind  died  in  the  streets.  The 
men  from  the  Esopus  garrison,  who  had  been  ordered 
to  the  fort,  came  in  dripping  wet  with  sweat  and  white 
with  the  dust  of  the  road.  Two  of  them  had  been  sun- 
struck  and  were  wholly  unfit  for  fighting ;  the  rest  were 
worn  out  with  marching  through  the  bitter  heat.  They 
threw  themselves  flat  on  the  ground  like  dogs,  and  lay 
there,  panting,  unable  to  speak,  their  swollen,  parched 
tongues  hanging  out  of  their  mouths.  They  brought  a 
little  powder  with  them,  and  that  was  of  some  use  to  the 
garrison. 

The  noise  of  their  marching  was  scarcely  still  before 
there  came  a  startling,  sudden  cry;  the  mill-brake  was 
set  with  a  fierce  creak ;  the  great  arms  swept  on  for  half 
a  turn,  trembled,  stopped ;  down  from  the  loft  came  Jan 
de  Witt,  the  miller,  as  white  as  his  floury  jacket. 

"Your  Excellency,  there  is  no  grain  to  grind!"  he 
cried,  when  he  came  to  the  Director-General's  presence. 
"The  bins  are  empty.  Unless  we  can  get  some  grain  to 
grind,  we  shall  be  starved  like  cats  in  a  garret ! ' ' 

273 


2  74       >  Barnaby  Lee 


What  he  said  was  true:  there  were  not  a  hundred 
schepels  of  meal;  there  were  not  enough  barley-grits, 
beans,  and  peas  to  victual  the  servants  a  fortnight;  there 
was  no  meat — the  days  were  too  hot ;  no  fish,  for  it  was 
not  the  season.  The  company's  stores  had  been  stowed 
in  ships  to  be  sent  to  Curacoa. 

"Commissary,  unload  me  those  stores,"  said  the  Di- 
rector-General. 

"Your  Excellency,  the  stores  are  gone,"  replied  the 
commissary. 

"Gone?"  exclaimed  Stuyvesant,  suddenly  pale.  "I 
told  thee  to  hold  the  sloops ! ' ' 

"Ay,  but,  your  Excellency,  the  Chamber  of  Deputies 
said—" 

Stuyvesant  looked  around  him  as  if  seeking  something 
to  break.  His  mustache  worked  up  and  down ;  he  set  his 
teeth  into  his  trembling  lip ;  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth 
a  bubble  of  foam  ran  down.  * '  God  forgive  the  Chamber 
of  Deputies ! "  he  said,  ' '  They  have  taken  from  us  the 
only  food  I  had  held  for  the  garrison ! ' '  Then  he  sprang 
erect,  for  there  was  no  time  to  waste  in  vain  recrimina- 
tions, nor  had  he  strength  to  expend  in  useless  wrath. 
* '  Sergeant  Harmen  Martensen ! "  he  cried ;  and  when  the 
gaunt,  shrewd  Fleming  came,  * '  Sergeant, ' '  he  said,  ' '  take 
Dirck  Smidt's  boat  and  run  the  coast  as  far  to  the  east- 
ward as  ye  dare  go.  Get  food,  food  of  any  sort,  and 
smuggle  it  into  the  city.  Pay  twice,  pay  thrice,  but 
bring  us  food,  whatever  be  the  cost.  Return  as  soon  as  in 
God's  grace  ye  be  permitted." 


New  Peril  2^  c^ 

Martensen  took  the  flyboat,  with  him  Nicolas  Bayard, 
and  skirted  the  coast  of  Long  Island  Sound  as  far  as  the 
mouth  of  the  Fresh  Water  River,  offering  twice  and 
thrice  their  worth  for  beef,  pork,  peas,  and  wheat,  and 
any  price  for  bread-stuffs,  but  secured  scarce  one  measure 
of  maize  with  a  flitch  or  two  of  pork,  and  escaped  by  the 
very  skin  of  his  teeth  from  a  twenty-four-gun  English 
frigate,  to  which  he  gave  the  slip  in  the  darkness,  "No- 
body will  sell  us  provisions,  your  Excellency,"  he  said 
when  he  reached  the  Director-General's  presence,  "but 
all  of  them  gave  us  curses ! ' ' 

Then  Stuy vesant  went  to  the  farmers,  and  begged  them 
to  thresh  out  the  grain  in  their  fields;  but  the  farmers 
would  neither  thresh  the  wheat  nor  lend  him  any  assis- 
tance. 

"Idiots  and  simpletons!"  he  said.  "Will  ye  not  even 
clothe  your  own  scarecrow?" 

*  *  The  rats  in  the  fort  eat  more  than  the  crows, ' '  replied 
the  farmers,  sullenly.  They  hated  the  arbitrary  hand 
which  had  laid  down  the  law  to  them. 

Then  Stuyvesant  bought  the  grain  of  them,  and  paid 
for  it  out  of  his  private  pocket;  his  serving-men  and 
negro  slaves  threshed  it  wherever  a  threshing-floor  could 
be  found;  and  as  fast  as  the  serving-men  beat  out  the 
grain,  the  negroes  carried  it  down  to  the  mill  in  baskets 
and  barrows,  buckets  and  bags,  upon  their  shoulders  and 
heads.  Most  of  them  wore  but  a  breech-clout,  the  weather 
being  sickeningly  hot,  and  the  sweat  ran  like  water  over 
their  necks  and  down  their  bare  black  bodies. 


27^  Barnaby  Lee 

The  threshers,  too,  worked  stripped  to  the  waist,  shin- 
ing with  perspiration ;  the  flails  were  flying  all  day  long, 
and  drummed  on  into  the  twilight  until  it  was  too  dark 
to  see,  and  the  workmen  could  hardly  lift  their  arms. 
Three  of  them  were  taken  ill  from  the  heat  and  the  over- 
exertion, and  one  who  had  drunken  deeply  of  schnapps 
to  strengthen  his  failing  arm  was  never  the  same  man 
afterward.  "Ach,  Gott!"  said  one,  "I  have  threshed 
wheat  before ;  but  to-day  I  have  threshed  ashes.  My  flail 
smoked;  the  flying  wheat  was  like  sparks  among  the 
straw ! ' ' 

When  they  were  done  they  lay  down  by  the  pond  and 
put  their  heads  into  the  water,  although  it  was  trodden 
muddy  and  was  almost  as  warm  as  blood.  They  were  all 
of  them  shaking  from  head  to  foot,  and  were  fairly  gray 
with  weariness;  one  of  them  cried,  and  others  choked, 
as  if  they  had  been  tired  children ;  the  strength  of  their 
hearts  had  gone  out  of  them  as  weakness  of  body  came  in. 
Day  and  night,  so  long  as  there  was  a  breath  to  turn  the 
windmill  sails,  the  millstones  were  kept  going  until  their 
rumble  seemed  like  the  undertone  of  the  trouble  upon  the 
town.  The  air  was  full  of  the  drifting  meal,  which  floated 
everywhere.  The  miller's  men  coughed  with  the  flour- 
dust,  and  their  linen  shirts  grew  pasty  with  sweat  and  the 
flour  which  lay  upon  them.  They  wrought  as  if  they 
had  forgotten  the  world  in  the  sudden  stress  of  toil. 

The  flrst  night  of  the  grinding  a  hurricane  arose,  howl- 
ing about  the  open  doors  and  roaring  through  the  build- 
ing.     The   miller's   candles,    thrust   in   the   wall,    sent 


New  Peril  2^^] 


shadows  lurching  over  beams,  bins,  and  grain-sacks;  the 
revolution  of  the  millstones  made  the  whole  tower  trem- 
ble. 

**Ye  dare  not  grind  in  such  a  wind,"  declared  the 
miller  from  the  sand-hill. 

"Dare  I  not?"  replied  Jan  de  Witt.  ''Watch  thou, 
and  see  if  I  dare  not!"  and  so  saying,  he  east  loose  the 
brake. 

The  mill-cap  swung  round  with  a  stubborn  creak ;  the 
sails  gave  one  slow,  beaten  tug,  then  turned  with  a  hum 
before  the  gale.  Fast  and  faster  they  went,  until  it 
seemed  they  must  be  torn  asunder  by  their  very  speed 
and  whirled  in  fragments  over  the  town.  The  oiler  and 
his  oil-pot  hurried  here  and  there;  the  mill  was  shaking 
like  a  tree;  the  thunder  roared  overhead,  and  the  mill- 
stones thundered  down  below ;  the  hot  meal  poured  into 
the  empty  bin  in  a  swift,  uninterrupted  stream. 

A  man  stood  on  the  staging,  knife  in  hand,  ready  to 
cut  away  the  sheets  if  there  were  chance  when  all  possible 
furling  was  past;  sacks  of  grain,  like  headless  bodies  of 
legless  men,  came  whirling  up  from  below,  with  a  con- 
stant whistling  of  tackle-blocks.  The  creaking  of  mill- 
gear,  the  slat  of  the  sails,  the  rumble  of  the  turning 
stones,  were  all  the  sounds  that  could  be  heard  above 
the  rush  of  the  river  below  and  the  roar  of  the  wind 
overhead. 

In  his  coat  of  painted  canvas  the  miller  was  every- 
where, now  directing  the  work  within,  now  struggling 
on  the  staging,  at  imminent  risk  of  being  hurled  bodily 


278  Barnaby  Lee 

over  the  railing;  twice  he  reefed  the  roaring  sails  in  the 
teeth  of  the  blinding  gale,  lest  that  worst  of  all  mill 
calamities,  the  wrecking  of  the  sails,  should  send  the  cap 
of  the  mill  and  its  running-gear  in  fragments  to  the 
ground.  The  wind  blew  out  the  candles;  he  wrought  on 
in  the  darkness,  finding  the  hopper  as  a  man  would  find 
his  mouth  in  a  place  of  unbroken  gloom,  by  long  famil- 
iarity; there  was  no  time  to  seek  a  light,  nor  use  to  call 
for  one  amid  the  roar  of  the  storm.  The  man  in  the  mill- 
loft  groped  here  and  there  at  his  duty  in  the  darkness, 
pushing  the  sacks  to  the  miller's  feet,  aiding  him,  and 
never  seeing  his  face,  nor  scarcely  hearing  his  shout. 
They  only  wrought;  and  their  dogged  pluck  was  kin  to 
heroism. 

Then  the  wind  began  to  fail.  **It  is  going,"  said  the 
miller.  "Ach,  the  sun  goes  down  to  rise  again,  but  the 
wind  arises  only  to  go  down.  God  lend  it  to  us  a  little 
longer ! ' '  But  the  wind  was  falling  fast.  By  dawn  there 
was  not  sufficient  breeze  to  turn  the  windmill  sails. 
There  was  not  enough  wind  on  the  gallery  to  cool  the 
miller's  beaded  forehead,  not  enough  on  the  fort- wall 
to  stir  the  grass  along  the  outer  slope.  Jan  de  Witt 
prayed  with  silent  lips,  but  the  sails  of  the  mill  stood 
motionless.  Toward  evening  a  few  gray  flecks  stole  up 
from  the  western  horizon,  with  a  host  of  clouds  behind 
them,  and  there  was  lightning  beyond  the  rim  of  the 
earth,  and  thunder  in  the  distant  hills;  but  no  wind 
came  of  it.  The  raccoon  hides  and  muskrat  skins  hanging 
upon  the  mill-side  stank  in  the  slumbrous  heat ;  the  sails 


New  Peril  279 


above  hung  as  limp  and  listless  as  the  shirt-sleeves  of  a 
dreamer. 

"Our  grinding  is  done,"  said  the  miller.  "God  hath 
other  use  for  the  wind,  no  doubt ;  but  we  've  not  enough 
meal  in  New  Amsterdam  to  keep  us  in  bread  for  a  single 
week ! ' ' 

Then  Stuyvesant  seized  the  bake-shops,  to  supply  the 
garrison,  but  got  only  six  or  seven  measures  of  meal, 
some  loaves  of  bread,  a  pan  of  rusks,  and  a  schepel  or  so 
of  biscuit,  which  made  scarce  a  mouthful  for  his  men. 
Then  the  brewers  were  forbidden  to  malt  any  grain 
which  might  be  made  into  meal,  and  all  fruit  matured 
enough  for  use  was  gathered  and  laid  in  store ;  the  kine 
of  the  city  were  numbered  in  lot,  to  be  drawn  for  in  case 
of  need ;  the  provender  even  of  the  animals,  the  ground- 
nuts and  unmatured  fruits  of  the  wood,  were  gathered 
against  starvation.  Yet  even  with  all  there  was  not  food 
enough  to  provision  the  city  against  a  siege. 

"Oh,  Barnaby,  what  is  to  become  of  us?"  asked  Dor- 
othy Van  Sweringen,  as  she  came  with  his  supper  on  a 
tray.  '  *  There  is  scarcely  any  bread  to  be  had ;  the  bakers 
are  empty-handed ;  Andreas  brings  but  the  hominy  cake, 
and  the  flour  is  almost  gone.    What  is  to  become  of  us  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know, ' '  said  he.  '  *  Indeed,  I  think  that  no- 
body knows.    Why  do  they  not  surrender?" 

"Would  they  butcher  us  all  if  we  did?" 

"Do  ye  take  them  for  savages?" 

"I  do  not  know;  thou  art  right  savage  at  times;  and 
then— ' '  here  she  put  out  her  hand,  and  taking  his,  held 


2  8o  Barnaby  Lee 

it,  trembling— "if  John  King's  men  should  catch  thee, 
Barnaby,  what  would  they  do  with  thee?" 

' '  I  believe  they  would  kill  me, ' '  he  answered ;  there  was 
a  hush  on  his  voice:  and  then  they  were  very  still,  and 
listened  to  the  crying  in  the  English  camps  along  the  dis- 
tant shore,  and  to  the  hurry  of  feet  about  the  fort,  mak- 
ing ready  for  the  fray. 

That  night,  at  sundown,  through  the  coppery  waters 
of  the  bay  there  came,  in  a  small  boat,  to  the  English 
admiral's  ship  the  captain  of  a  freebooter  offering  his 
service.  "Place  me  in  the  vanguard  of  your  attack," 
he  said,  with  a  baleful  scowl,  ' '  for,  blight  me  green !  I  've 
a  grudge  against  that  Dutch  rabbit-burrow,  and  I  would 
pay  it  off." 

"I  am  not  here  paying  off  grudges,"  said  the  com- 
mander of  the  English ;  "  I  am  here  to  take  New  Amster- 
dam for  my  master,  the  Duke  of  York.  You  will  taJje  your 
place  in  the  column  as  we  are  pleased  to  assign  you,  and 
attack  as  I  give  the  order.  Corporal,  show  the  gentleman 
up!" 

The  corporal  showed  the  gentleman  up. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 


THE   LAST   DAYS 


ON  Saturday  morning,  August  31,  1664,  Nicolls  sent 
his  last  summons  for  the  surrender  of  New  Amster- 
dam. Stuyvesant  once  more  replied  that  he  had  no  right 
to  demand  it,  and  again  the  blunt  English  commander 
rejoined:  "The  right  does  not  concern  me  a  tittle;  I 
was  sent  hither  to  take  New  Amsterdam,  and  I  am  going 
to  take  it." 

*  *  I  will  protect  and  defend  the  city  to  the  last  extrem- 
ity," responded  the  Director-General. 

"Come  easy,  come  hard,"  returned  Richard  Nicolls, 
* '  I  shall  take  New  Amsterdam.  I  am  weary  of  parleying. 
I  have  offered  terms  to  the  city,  and  if  they  are  not  ac- 
cepted, I  hold  myself  clear  of  responsibility  for  whatever 
may  ensue.  At  the  end  of  twenty-four  hours  I  shall  move 
upon  the  town,  by  land  and  sea,  with  all  my  force ;  it  be- 
hooves you  to  make  up  your  minds. ' ' 

When  this  imperious  message  was  heard  in  New  Am- 
sterdam, men,  women,  and  children  flocked  to  the  Direc- 
tor-General's door,  beseeching  him  to  submit;  but  his 
only  answer  to  them  was,  "I  would  rather  be  carried 

out  dead!" 

281 


2S2  Barnaby  Lee 

' '  Then  give  us  the  terms,  or,  on  our  souls,  we  will  sur- 
render anyway!"  they  cried. 

To  avoid  this  threatened  mutiny  against  his  authority, 
which  would  leave  him  neither  dignity  nor  honor  to  stand 
upon,  the  Director-General  yielded  to  the  demand  for 
the  English  terms,  and  Winthrop's  letter,  which  he  had 
torn  into  shreds,  was  pieced  together,  copied  in  English, 
transcribed  into  Dutch,  and  despatched  to  the  burgo- 
meisters. 

Then  Stuyvesant  sued  for  an  armistice,  still  hoping 
for  relief,  and  longing  still  for  some  compromise  com- 
patible with  honor.  But  Nicolls  would  treat  for  nothing 
but  the  surrender  of  the  town.  ' '  I  was  sent  to  take  New 
Amsterdam,"  he  answered,  ''and  I  am  coming  to  take 
it.  Have  done  with  goose-quills  and  ink-pots;  they  are 
no  arms  for  a  gentleman-soldier."  Then  he  sent  two 
ships  above  the  town,  while  the  rest  remained  below, 
so  that  the  town  was  between  two  fires :  '  *  To-morrow, ' ' 
said  he  to  Stuyvesant,  "I  will  speak  with  you  in  Man- 
hattan. ' ' 

"Friends  will  be  welcome,"  replied  Stuyvesant,  "if 
they  come  in  a  friendly  manner." 

"It  rests  with  you,"  rejoined  Nicolls,  "whether  the 
manner  be  friendlike  or  foemanlike.  I  shall  come  with 
my  ships  and  my  soldiers.  Raise  the  white  flag  of  peace 
on  your  fortress ;  then  something  may  be  considered. ' ' 

At  this  the  blood  of  the  burghers  was  turned  into  curds 
and  whey.    ' '  Surrender ! ' '  they  cried.    * '  Surrender ! ' ' 

Stuyvesant  looked  upon  them  in  burning  indignation. 


The  Last  Days  283 


*'If  I  surrender  this  city,"  he  said,  "wherein  am  I  justi- 
fied?" 

"Will  ye  be  justified  in  our  ruin?"  they  cried,  "in 
seeing  our  city  taken  and  sacked,  our  warehouses  burned, 
our  goods  wasted,  our  homes  pillaged  and  robbed?  Is 
this  your  justification?  Surrender!  Surrender!"  they 
implored.    But  he  would  not  surrender. 

' '  They  will  tear  the  fort  into  ruins ! ' '  they  cried. 

"Then  we  will  defend  it  from  the  ruins.  I  tell  you 
once  and  for  all,"  said  he,  "I  will  not  surrender," 

' '  Do  not  oppose  the  will  of  God !  If  you  resist  we  all 
shall  perish." 

"Then  we  shall  perish,"  he  returned,  "as  is  the  will 
of  God." 

The  Stad  Huis  bell  began  to  ring,  and  the  people  to 
assemble,  and  straightway  every  man  ceased  work  upon 
the  fortifications.  There  was  a  tumult  in  the  market- 
place, stones  were  thrown  over  the  fort-walls,  and  there 
was  a  meeting  of  the  burghers  in  the  Stad  Huis  square, 
led  by  Dirck  Phillipse,  the  carpenter.  "Shall  we  stand 
here  idle  in  the  streets,"  they  cried,  "and  see  the  town 
made  a  shambles,  our  children  murdered,  our  parents 
slain,  our  property  in  flames,  all  for  the  sake  of  a  fool's 
honor?  To  resist  is  hopeless,  defense  impossible;  al- 
though we  might  protect  ourselves  for  a  horrible  day  or 
two,  there  is  no  relief  to  be  hoped  for ;  we  shall  be  buried 
in  one  long  trench ! ' '  Then  they  cursed  the  "West  India 
Company,  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  and  the  Lords 
States-General  of  Holland,  who  had  left  them  in  such 


284  Barnaby  Lee 

straits,  and  raised  a  public  outcry  against  the  Director- 
General.  " Be  not  so  obstinate !"  they  roared.  "Expose 
us  not  so  in  vain ! ' '  and  with  that  they  reviled  him  in  the 
streets. 

But,  obstinate  and  passionate,  Peter  Stuyvesant  stood 
to  his  word.  "I  tell  you,  I  am  the  master  here,  and  I 
will  fight  to  the  last ! "  he  said. 

And  then  his  wrath  broke  out  upon  them  in  a  storm  of 
indignation.  '  *  Ye  miserable  tradesmen,  who  left  this  ship 
to  steer  herself  while  ye  went  catching  conies,  this  is  the 
pass  ye  have  brought  us  to  with  your  despicable  trading. 
A  curse  upon  it !  It  hath  sucked  the  courage  out  of  your 
hearts  and  made  cowards  of  you  all.  Ye  are  anything 
for  profit;  nor  duty  nor  honor  stirs  you;  the  rattle  of 
guilders  is  the  only  drum  ye  hear.  Shame,  and  shame 
upon  you !  ye  would  change  your  faiths  for  safety,  and 
turn  your  coats  for  a  penny,  like  a  mill  which  setteth 
its  sail  to  any  wind  which  offers  to  grind  its  grain ! "  As 
he  came  through  the  streets  from  the  Stad  Huis  the 
crowd  made  way  for  him  as  a  throng  of  barn-yard  fowls 
would  make  way  for  an  eagle;  for,  though  they  hated 
him,  they  feared  him,  and  none  dared  face  his  scorn; 
and  though  they  reviled  him  behind  his  back,  to  his  face 
they  honored  him. 

That  night  the  vessels  of  the  English  fleet  warped  up 
nearer  to  the  town,  and  as  the  lights  came  on  and  on,  and 
the  sound  of  oars  drifted  like  a  pulse  over  the  water,  in 
New  Amsterdam  was  an  agony  of  despair. 

The  curfew  rang  at  nine  o'clock,  but  nobody  left  the 


The  Last  Days  28 


streets,  and  nobody  put  his  candles  out,  so  that  the  win- 
dows stared  bright  on  the  darkness.  The  night-watch 
wandered  here  and  there,  with  unlit  lanterns  and  drag- 
ging staves,  daftly  calling  the  passing  hours ;  but  nobody 
listened  to  them.  Figures  of  men  and  children  went 
hurriedly  to  and  fro;  now  and  then  hoarse  shouts  were 
heard  from  trouble  in  the  streets;  both  citizens  and  sol- 
diers were  drinking  heavily,  tempers  had  grown  uncer- 
tain, and  there  was  frequent  fighting  and  crying  for 
the  watch ;  but  no  one  had  authority,  the  watch  was  de- 
moralized and  huddled  in  the  comers  like  a  flock  of  bewil- 
dered sheep. 

In  the  open  doors  men  stood,  cleaning  matchlocks, 
swords,  and  pikes,  and  some  with  unloaded  pistols  were 
running  from  house  to  house,  begging  piteously  as  they 
went  for  a  charge  or  two  of  gunpowder.  The  cry  every- 
where was,  "Powder!  powder,  in  Heaven's  name,  or  we 
all  are  lost  and  murdered ! ' '  but  not  a  grain  of  powder 
came  to  answer  their  appeals. 

At  two  o'clock  a  storm  came  up  across  the  southwest, 
with  rolling  masses  of  livid  cloud  heaped  like  battle- 
ments height  on  height,  and  with  heavy  thunder  the  rain 
poured  down  in  sheets  across  the  town.  Men  made  no 
account  of  it,  but  with  smoking  torches  ran  splashing 
through  the  great  pools  that  flooded  the  streets.  Bar- 
naby  watched  them  as  they  ran,  with  their  pallid  faces, 
hollow  cheeks,  and  staring  eyes,  coming  here  and  there 
swiftly  through  the  wet  red  light,  distraught,  like  crea- 
tures driven  from  their  holes  at  night  by  the  falling  of 


2  86  Barnaby  Lee 

a  tree.  The  children  were  crying  everywhere ;  everything 
appeared  strange  and  unreal ;  the  restless  activity  never 
ceased  nor  lessened  all  night  long.  The  cocks  crowed; 
the  hounds  howled  dismally  in  the  kennels;  the  cattle 
bellowed  in  the  stables.  All  the  town  was  in  disorder; 
each  was  begging  for  assistance,  none  was  lending  the 
slightest  aid;  all  alike  were  utterly  helpless,  all  alike 
utterly  frenzied.  In  the  fort  alone  was  order ;  there  each 
man  knew  his  duty.  The  cannoneers  worked  on  the  ram- 
parts all  night  long  in  the  sweat  of  their  brows.  They  lay 
down  like  dogs  and  slept  in  the  grass  of  the  battlement- 
corners,  under  the  benches,  by  the  walls,  anywhere  for 
a  moment.  ' '  Ach,  Gott !  we  must  sleep, ' '  they  said.  ' '  We 
cannot  work  alway.  We  will  fight;  but  let  us  sleep  a 
little,  if  it  is  only  with  one  eye. ' '  None  of  them  watched 
any  more,  for  it  was  a  waste  of  time.  They  wrought  all 
night  without  ceasing,  until  they  staggered  with  weari- 
ness. Some  fell  asleep  as  they  stood  in  their  places  on 
the  wall ;  but,  being  soldiers,  they  endured.  It  was  only 
toward  daybreak,  when  men  were  tired  out,  that  the  up- 
roar in  the  city  ceased.  In  the  half  light,  half  darkness 
of  the  stormy  dawn,  silence  fell,  and  wandering  voices  in 
the  lanes  grew  mysterious  and  strange.  Then  at  last 
came  day. 

The  English  fleet  was  astir;  the  English  camps  were 
rousing.  .  The  beating  of  drums,  the  screaming  of  trum- 
pets, the  shrill,  high  calls  of  the  sailormen,  and  the  hoarse, 
heavy  shouting  of  the  soldiery  as  the  troops  formed, 
marched,  and  countermarched  on  the  shores  to  the  south 


The  Last  Days  287 


of  the  village  of  Brooklyn,  came  on  the  wind  like  the  dis- 
tant sound  of  a  battle  in  a  valley,  where  one  may  listen 
on  the  hills  to  the  sound  of  the  unseen  conflict,  beyond 
sight  of  the  strife,  yet  within  hearing  of  the  dire  uproar. 

Then  the  swift  sun  sprang  up.  It  shone  brightly  on 
the  bivouac  along  the  water's  edge.  There  were  few 
tents ;  the  most  of  the  men  had  slept  on  the  open  ground. 
The  pale  smoke  was  still  rising  from  half-extinguished 
camp-fires;  the  drums  were  beating  up  and  down;  their 
company  was  gathering  by  Jan  the  Sailor's  house. 

With  every  passing  moment  the  stir  grew  more  and 
more.  Steel  caps  and  pikes  were  sparkling  through  the 
steam  arising  from  the  damp  array;  fluttering  banners 
began  to  rise;  horsemen  by  twos  and  threes  went  gal- 
loping from  camp  to  camp.  A  long,  irregular  line  of 
steel  came  slipping  over  the  sand-hills  and  among  the 
green  woods,  from  Gravesend  to  the  ferry  where  boats 
were  waiting. 

In  the  city  was  a  tumult ;  it  was  every  man  for  himself, 
and  nobody  help  the  weak.  The  gables  of  the  houses  were 
black  with  staring  men.  The  wind  blew  through  the 
open  doors,  and  no  one  cooked  or  ate  breakfast.  The 
cattle  bawled  hungrily,  but  nobody  barkened;  nobody 
counted  the  time. 

Barnaby  had  not  slept  all  night;  if  any  one  had,  ex- 
cepting the  soldiers,  his  heart  was  of  stone  or  leather. 
Before  daybreak  the  lad  had  been  up  and  doing ;  so,  too, 
had  Dorothy.  Her  face  was  pale;  two  red  spots  burned 
on  her  cheek-bones,  and  her  eyes  were  bright  and  dry. 


2  88  Barnaby  Lee 

'  *  The  English  fleet  is  moving, ' '  she  said  as  she  hurried 
to  Barnaby 's  side.  '  *  They  will  engage  with  the  fort,  be- 
yond doubt.  The  burghers  declare  that  they  will  not 
fight;  the  Governor  saith  that  he  will,  and  the  soldiers 
aver  that  they  will  fire,  if  they  fall  at  the  first  broadside. 
The  cannoneers  are  ordered  to  shoot  as  soon  as  the 
frigates  pass  before  the  fort.  The  English  have  taken  the 
White  Bear,  and  filled  her  full  of  soldiers  to  aid  in  the 
land  attack.  Mynheer  De  Becker  hath  gone  to  beg  that 
they  wait  a  little.    Dost  think  that  he  may  prevail?" 

Barnaby  shook  his  head. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  Mynheer  De  Becker  came  back. 
With  him  were  Mynheer  Van  Ruyter,  the  Colonial  Secre- 
tary, Comelis  Steenwyck,  the  Mayor,  in  his  silver- 
buckled  gown,  and  Jean  Cousseau,  the  High  Reeve,  with 
a  long  clay  pipe  in  his  mouth.  There  was  a  white  flag 
still  in  the  bow  of  their  pinnace ;  it  hung  down  uselessly, 
and  the  High  Reeve's  pipe  was  full  of  ashes.  The  Eng- 
lish would  treat  of  nothing  but  surrender.  There  was 
nothing  more  that  the  Dutch  could  do  but  await  their 
destiny. 

Stuyvesant  now  manumitted  his  slaves,  that  in  case  he 
should  be  slain  and  the  city  fall  they  might  be  free,  not 
bond:  Ascento  Angola,  Christopher,  Santone,  and  Pieter 
Criolie,  Lewis  Guinea,  Minnis  the  Thin-lipped,  and  Sol- 
omon Criolie ;  there  were  also  three  negro  women,  Minna, 
Antje,  and  FJoris,  the  last  a  slim,  tall  Kongo  girl  with  a 
silver  ring  in  her  nose. 

"They  are  coming!"  called  the  gunner.     "They  are 


The  Last  Days  289 


coming!"  said  the  soldiers.  The  bell  on  the  church  in 
the  fort  rang  out  for  an  instant  wildly.  Then  all  was 
still,  and  the  ships  of  the  squadron  came  majestically  on. 

The  frigates  had  their  sails  set  to  the  last  white  stretch 
of  canvas;  their  guns  were  all  upon  one  side,  and  their 
double  decks  were  filled.  Towering  darkly  fore  and  aft, 
topheavy,  over-gunned,  sunken  deep  with  the  weight  of 
their  cannon,  the  black  mouths  of  their  lower  guns 
were  scarcely  three  feet  from  the  water-line.  The  rims 
of  the  lower  ports  were  wet  with  the  lifting  of  the 
waves,  and  now  and  then  a  dark  gun  dipped  its  black 
throat  full  of  spray  and  dribbled  its  lip  along  the  sea 
like  the  muzzle  of  a  bull.  Sullen,  sluggish,  towering, 
rolling  before  the  wind,  a  pale  froth  rippling  across 
their  prows  and  a  bubbling  wake  behind  them,  across 
the  green  and  silver  bay  the  English  fleet  drove  forward 
to  the  attack. 

Within  the  fort  had  fallen  a  silence  like  that  of  death. 
On  the  wall  between  two  gabions  stood  the  Director- 
General.  He  had  attired  himself  in  his  best;  his  fine 
linen  collar  fell  broadly  across  his  velvet  coat,  and  the 
laces  at  his  strong,  round  wrists  blew  about  his  deter- 
mined fingers.  Good  gun-matches  had  been  issued  to  all 
the  gunner's  men.  They  lighted  them  at  the  brazier 
glowing  in  the  bastion,  and  took  their  places,  some 
flushed,  same  pale,  as  temperament  fell,  but  all  deter- 
mined to  stand  to  their  guns  and  to  do  their  duty  or  to 
die.  On  the  southwest  bastion  stood  Jan  Reyndertsen, 
beside  the  Director-General,  and  with  a  red-hot  touching- 


290  Barnaby  Lee 

iron  in  his  hand.  Twenty  cannon  were  all  he  had;  not 
all  bore  on  the  fleet.  Ninety-four  guns  peered  gloomily 
from  the  ports  of  the  English  ships. 

The  Director-General  looked  at  the  flags  at  the  prows 
of  the  English  frigates.  He  could  see  the  seamen's 
faces  as  they  peered  above  the  bulwarks.  He  laid  his 
hand  on  the  gunner 's  arm.    ' '  Ready,  Jan ! "  he  said. 

On  its  staff  at  the  prows  of  the  ships  the  English  jack 
looked  like  a  patch  of  blood  against  the  yellow  sails.  The 
crews  were  at  their  quarters ;  troops  were  in  the  waists  of 
the  vessels ;  powder-boys  with  buckets  were  darting  about 
the  decks.  Across  the  bay  came  the  roll  of  a  drum.  Two 
ships  had  passed  the  limit  and  were  opposite  the  guns. 
The  master  gunner  stooped  and  trained  his  heavy  brazen 
cannon. 

"Make  ready!"  said  Stuyvesant,  hoarsely. 

' '  Ready,  mynheer, ' '  said  the  gunner. 

The  captains  of  the  soldiers  upon  the  decks  of  the  ves- 
sels could  be  clearly  discerned  through  the  dazzling  light. 
* '  Ready ! ' '  said  Stuyvesant,  raising  his  hand. 

At  that  instant  the  little  dominie  who  taught  the  Latin 
school,  with  his  son,  who  also  taught  with  him,  came  run- 
ning up  the  rampart.  "Your  Excellency!"  he  cried. 
"Stay  yet,  your  Excellency!"  His  hair  was  long  and 
white,  his  face  old  and  seamed  with  care,  yet  mild,  sweet, 
and  full  of  pity.  "Your  Excellency,"  he  said  as  he 
came  to  the  top  of  the  wall,  "  as  we  stand  before  God,  look 
here ! ' '  and  he  waved  his  hand  behind  them. 

But  Stuyvesant  looked  at  the  frigates  and  his  face  was 


The  Last  Days  291 


black  with  battle.  "Trouble  me  not!"  he  said  bitterly. 
"Art  ready  there,  Reyndertsen  ? " 

"Yea,  I  am  ready,"  said  Reyndertsen,  and  waved  his 
touching-iron. 

The  little  dominie  caught  his  arm.  "In  God's  name, 
hold ! "  he  panted. 

"Let  be;  I  must  fire!"  cried  Reyndertsen,  wrestling 
to  be  free.  The  red  sparks  flew  here  and  there.  The  lit- 
tle dominie's  hat  fell  off,  his  loosed  hair  blew  into  his 
eyes.  "Fool,  let  me  go!"  cried  the  gunner,  and  struck 
him  across  the  face.  The  young  dominie  caught  Stuyres- 
ant's  signal  hand  as  his  father  staggered  back.  "Oh, 
mynheer!"  he  cried,  "remember  the  women  and  chil- 
dren !  Their  lives  lie  in  the  hollow  of  thine  hand,  and  on 
the  judgment  day  thou  shalt  answer  for  what  thou  hast 
done  with  them  here.  Remember  the  women  and  the 
children ! ' ' 

"The  women  and  the  children?"  said  the  Director- 
General,  as  in  a  daze. 

"Ay;  look!"  exclaimed  the  little  gray  dominie,  and 
pointed  with  his  trembling  hand. 

Face  on  face  was  huddled  in  the  narrow  way  that  lay 
between  the  fort-wall  and  the  half-encompassing  houses 
—faces  that  were  wild  with  fright,  lips  ashy  gray: 
mothers  leaning  tremblingly  on  the  shoulders  of  tall  sons ; 
old  men  wringing  helpless  hands  and  moaning  piteously ; 
while  children  clung  to  their  parents'  knees,  imploring 
in  innocent  terror,  and  sobbing  with  fear.  "Mynheer," 
said  the  little  dominie,  *'for  us  what  matters  itt     We 


2g2  Barnaby  Lee 

have  run  our  race,  and  are  prepared  for  death.  But  these 
women,  these  children;  do  we  hold  the  cup  for  them? 
Look,  thou!  the  women  and  the  children!  Remember 
them  this  day ! ' ' 

Peter  Stuyvesant  turned  on  the  wall  and  looked  over 
the  narrow  way.  * '  Ay,  the  women  and  the  children ! ' ' 
he  said  in  a  dull,  dazed  way.  Slowly  turning  as  if  he 
were  moved  by  the  force  of  some  unseen  hand,  he  looked 
across  the  shining  bay,  into  a  world  which  no  man  saw 
save  he— a  world  where  failure  turns  success,  where  dis- 
appointments lose  their  sting,  humiliations  never  come, 
and  where  the  promises  of  youth  shall  flower  every  one. 
Over  the  shining  water,  over  the  slopes  of  Long  Island, 
where  the  ironweed  was  beginning  to  blow  and  the  black- 
birds to  gather  in  the  elm-tree  tops,  he  looked.  There  the 
slopes  lay,  bright  with  afternoon,  the  blue  haze  gathering 
on  the  hills,  the  cobwebs  drifting  in  the  sun.  The  clover 
was  growing  brown  in  the  fields,  and  the  milkweed  rav- 
eled its  faded  bloom;  the  maize  stood  in  yellow,  floury 
tassel,  with  its  silk  raveling  out  from  the  milky  ears  be- 
tween the  lips  of  the  harsh  green  husk.  The  primrose 
stood  tall  in  the  dusky  wood,  and  from  somewhere 
in  a  meadow  came  the  imperfect  second-singing  of  mea- 
dow-larks, sweet  but  faint,  the  broken  shred  of  the  April 
call.  He  heard  the  bleating  of  many  flocks,  the  lowing  of 
kine  in  dusty  roads ;  one  step  more,  he  heard  the  singing 
of  reapers  in  happy  fields,  wheat  cut,  barley  mown, 
laughter  in  many  a  starlit  lane  in  a  land  that  was  his 
country's.     A  land  that  was  his  country's!     "Oh,  my 


The  Last  Days  293 


Father ! "  he  said ;  then  he  repeated  slowly,  *  *  The  women 
and  the  children,"  once,  in  a  dull,  dazed  way;  then 
turning  suddenly  without  more  words,  and  with  a  look 
on  his  face  as  if  he  were  stunned,  he  hurried  down 
from  the  rampart,  with  the  two  dominies  running  at 
either  hand,  touching  his  sleeves,  the  little  gray  dominie 
praying. 

Reyndertsen,  the  gunner,  looked  after  them  with  a 
strange  look  on  his  face;  then  he  looked  at  the  people, 
then  at  the  fleet,  threw  down  his  gun-match  on  the  ram- 
part, and  trod  it  out  under  his  heel.  "We  are  sold!" 
cried  one  of  the  gun-crew.  Reyndertsen  turned  with 
one  flash  of  wrath  and  struck  him  in  the  mouth. 
' '  Sold  r '  he  cried.    ' '  Thou  lying  dog ! " 

When  Stuyvesant  had  come  down  from  the  wall  and 
raised  his  head  again,  he  saw  the  flags  of  the  English 
ships  in  the  river  beyond  the  town.  With  a  hideous 
groan  he  broke  from  those  who  would  have  held  him. 
'  *  Oh,  my  honor !  my  honor ! "  he  cried ;  and  as  if  he  were 
suddenly  going  mad,  he  ran  through  the  gate,  exclaim- 
ing, ' '  To  the  river,  to  the  river !  Quick,  forward,  to  the 
river !  The  English  shall  not  land ! ' '  Leaving  the  fort 
behind  him  with  Nicasius  De  Sille,  the  counselor,  to  bear 
the  charge  of  affairs,  he  ran  to  the  front  of  the  city,  with 
perhaps  a  hundred  men,  to  oppose  the  English  landing. 

But  the  English  made  no  attempt  to  land ;  they  let  fall 
their  anchors,  furled  their  sails,  piped  all  hands  to  mess, 
and  rode  at  ease  on  the  tide ;  for  they  knew  that  victory 
was  theirs  and  that  New  Amsterdam  must  fall. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 


THE  CITY  FALLS 


ALL  night  above  the  stream  and  across  the  bay  the 
.XjL lights  of  the  English  fleet  waved  and  nodded  like 
dizzy  stars.  All  night  long,  above  the  never-silent  troub- 
ling of  the  water,  the  ship-bells  rang  the  watches,  sharp, 
thin,  and  brassy  clear.  All  night  the  red  windows  of  New 
Amsterdam  stared  through  the  darkness  at  the  enemy; 
and  in  his  room,  until  gray  dawn,  Peter  Stuyvesant  went 
up  and  down  like  a  wild  beast  in  a  cage,  and  beat  his 
fists  together  in  despairing  rage  and  shame. 

"They  dare  not;  they  dare  not!"  he  groaned.  "Yet 
God  alone  knows  what  Englishmen  will  dare!" 

He  wrung  his  hands. 

*  *  Come,  sit  in  the  dust, ' '  he  cried,  "  0  ye  daughters  of 
Jerusalem!  The  kingdom  hath  departed!  Come  ye, 
and  sit  in  the  dust  with  me;  for  we  prevail  no  more!" 
Tet  his  face  was  like  stone,  and  his  voice  never  faltered, 
although  the  ring  was  utterly  gone  out  of  it. 

In  the  streets  beyond  the  fort-walls  the  hubbub  still 

went  on.    Now  and  again,  in  an  instant's  hush,  the  tread 

of  the  feet  of  the  English  watch  upon  the  frigate's  decks 

could  be  heard. 

294 


The  City  Falls  295 


The  Great  Wain  sank  in  the  north;  in  the  town  bp- 
yond  the  walls  the  cattle  stirred  uneasily.  The  win- 
dow-sill of  the  Governor's  room  was  beaded  wet  with 
gathered  mist ;  the  candle  in  the  gunners '  quarters  shone 
dimly  beyond  the  inclosure ;  no  one  had  turned  the  hour- 
glass— the  sand  lay  in  an  unmeaning  heap  in  the  lower 
bowl  of  it.  ' '  How  quickly  it  hath  run  out ! ' '  said  Stuy- 
vesant.  ''Ach,  Gott,  thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done!" 
Throwing  himself  into  a  chair,  he  buried  his  face  in  his 
bronzed  hands,  and  moved  no  more  until  the  pale  light 
had  begun  to  streak  the  east. 

Then  he  went  to  the  window  and  stared  out.  The 
town  still  looked  mysterious;  the  lights  had  grown  wan; 
there  was  a  hush  on  everything.  "Thy  will,  not  mine!" 
said  the  Director-General.  In  streaks  of  fire  the  day 
broke  across  the  sea,  and  with  it  broke  the  iron  heart  of 
Peter  Stuyvesant.  He  turned  his  face  from  the  window : 
New  Amsterdam  had  fallen. 

There  shortly  came  a  rumor  that  a  treaty  had  been 
agreed  to;  that  the  petition  of  the  burghers  had  been 
heard ;  that  the  Dutch  were  to  have  security  in  all  their 
property ;  their  officers  were  to  remain  the  same ;  the  town 
was  to  have  its  voice.  The  Dutch  soldiers  were  to  be  con- 
veyed to  the  fatherland  in  Dutch  ships  lying  in  the  har- 
bor; while  within  two  hours  after  eight  o'clock  upon  the 
coming  Monday,  the  fort  and  town  were  to  be  delivered 
into  the  hands  of  the  English  governor.  Then  it  began 
to  be  whispered  that  the  Duke  of  York  had  sent  hand- 
fiome  new  gowns  for  the  aldermen,  a  silver  mace  to  be 


2  9^  Barnaby  Lee 

carried  in  state  in  magistrates'  processions,  and  liveries 
of  fine  blue  cloth,  embroidered  and  trimmed  with  orange. 
The  eyes  of  the  worthy  Dutch  grew  bright  as  they  spoke 
of  the  orange  trimmings :  "  It  is  the  will  of  God, ' '  they 
said. 

But  when  the  news  came  to  the  English  fleet,  that  there 
was  to  be  no  pillage  nor  sacking,  the  captain  of  a  dingy 
ship  which  followed  after  the  squadron  like  a  jackal 
after  a  lion,  stood  up  and  cursed  Richard  Nicolls  for  this 
idiot  clemency.  ''Am  I  never  to  have  my  revenge  on 
these  Dutch?  Am  I  ever  to  be  balked?  Nay,  I  will 
square  my  accounts,  if  I  have  to  burn  yon  city  to  the 
ground ! ' '  Leaning  over  the  rail,  he  shook  his  fists  at  the 
town. 

"Oh,  ay,"  said  the  man  beside  him.  *"T  was  so  ye 
said  afore.  I  begin  to  think  that  cock-sure  is  a  rare  un- 
certain bird." 

'  *  You  '11  see ! "  cried  the  first,  with  an  oath. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  '11  see,"  said  the  other,  brusquely.  "That 
is  why  I  carry  my  eyes." 


CHAPTER  XXXV 


JOHN   KING   TURNS   UP 


AT  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  a  trumpet-blast  rang 
jLA-  along  the  hilltops.  The  line  of  soldiers  in  the  fort 
began  to  straighten  out.  They  were  to  depart  from  the 
fallen  citadel  with  all  the  honors  of  war. 

In  their  old  gray  clothes,  stained  leather  jackets,  their 
faded  sashes  and  battered  caps,  the  little  troop  looked 
poor  enough  in  the  bright  September  sunshine. 

The  bugle  blew  along  the  hills. 

"Oplettenheid!"  said  the  captain.  The  drummer 
tapped  the  drum;  the  ensign  loosed  the  flag  on  its 
staff  and  let  it  slowly  unfurl. 

"VoortvaartsI"  said  the  captain.  The  men  took  up 
their  step,  the  drummer  struck  up  sulkily  "The  Battle 
of  Heiligerlee,"  and  to  its  hollow,  dispirited  tone  the 
files  swung  forward.  At  their  front  was  Peter  Stuy- 
vesant,  his  head  sunken  on  his  breast. 

One,  two ;  one,  two,  three !  the  drum  went  beating  out, 
the  little  column  following  to  the  ships  in  the  canal. 

Again  the  English  trumpets  sounded  on  the  hilltops 
over  the  town ;  the  captains  began  to  shout ;  the  English 
banners  flourished,  the  corporals  bellowed,  the  drums 

297 


298  Barnaby  Lee 

struck  up ;  the  conquerors  came  marching  down  through 
the  orchards  into  the  town. 

At  their  head  rode  Nieolls  on  a  bay  horse.  He  wore 
a  uniform  of  scarlet  and  green.  With  him  on  white 
horses  rode  Sir  Robert  Carr  and  Colonel  Cartwright  in 
scarlet  uniforms  and  wigs  of  horsehair.  The  men  were 
in  three  divisions,  each  a  hundred  strong,  musketeers, 
pikemen,  and  halberdiers.  The  banners  were  in  the 
center,  white,  red,  yellow,  crimson  and  blue,  guarded 
by  groups  of  pikemen,  among  whom  were  harquebusiers 
armed  with  flint-locked  harquebuses. 

Barnaby  stood  on  the  bastion,  watching  them  march 
down.  The  long  white  ash  pike-staves  stood  up  like  bare 
branches  above  the  heads  of  the  musketeers,  and  with 
the  movement  of  the  troops  clattered  one  against  an- 
other like  the  boughs  of  a  wood  in  a  wind.  One  of  the 
troops  was  uniformed  in  blue  with  facings  of  red  and 
buff,  another  was  in  green  and  scarlet,  the  third  in  red 
and  white.  Some  of  the  men  had  thrust  their  dagger- 
hilts  into  the  muzzles  of  their  muskets,  from  which  they 
stood  up,  glittering  like  long  and  keen  steel  thorns. 
Others  had  braided  wreaths  from  evergreens  on  the  hill- 
sides, and  had  made  them  fast  on  their  steel  caps  like 
the  laurel  wreath  of  a  victor. 

They  were  marching  four  and  five  abreast,  and  the 
swaggering,  brown-faced  musketeers,  with  their  heavy 
firelocks  over  their  shoulders,  their  brown  swords  slap- 
ping their  thighs,  as  they  strode,  and  with  daggers  at 
their  hips,  looked  around  them,  as  they  came,  with  a  cool, 
defiant  star^,  as  if  they  were  the  lords  of  all  the  earth. 


John  King  Turns  Up        299 

Barnaby's  cheeks  were  a  trifle  flushed.  The  sound 
of  the  feet  of  the  marching  men  had  begun  to  go  to  his 
head.  The  clinking  of  the  swords,  the  hoarse,  discordant 
shouts  of  the  officers,  the  rattle  of  bandoleers,  clatter  of 
pikes,  clang  of  halberds  and  rumbling  of  drums,  made 
a  deep,  strange  sound,  once  heard,  never  to  be  forgotten. 
Tramp,  tramp !  went  the  feet ;  crash !  went  the  clanking 
arms.  A  shiver  ran  through  Bamaby;  his  heart  shook. 
He  ran  along  the  rampart.  Below  him  the  banners  were 
blowing  and  tossing;  the  drums  beat  fast  and  faster. 

"God  save  King  Charles!"  he  cried,  and  threw  up 
his  hat  in  the  air. 

' '  What  the  dickens ! ' '  said  one  of  the  captains,  staring 
up  out  of  the  choking  dust. 

"God  save  the  King!"  cried  Bamaby,  and  again 
tossed  up  his  hat. 

* '  Halt ! ' '  cried  the  captain,  hoarsely. 

' '  Halt ! ' '  growled  the  corporals. 

The  dust  among  the  feet  of  the  men  blew  away  in  a 
little  gray  cloud. 

"God  save  the  King!"  cried  the  captain,  and  lifted 
his  evergreened  cap.  "God  save  the  King!"  cried  the 
soldiers. 

And  then  they  marched  on. 

One  company  stayed  at  the  city  gate ;  another  marched 
on  to  the  Stad  Huis  and  nailed  the  arms  of  England  over 
the  door.  Fort  Amsterdam  they  named  Fort  James,  to 
honor  the  Duke  of  York;  the  city,  too,  was  named  for 
him,  and  the  country  round.  The  burghers  made  no 
efficient  protest.     They  retained  their  offices  and  their 


3  op  Barnaby  Lee 

trade;  why  should  they  protest?  They  gave  a  dinner- 
party to  the  Governor  and  his  staff ;  complimented  their 
new  rulers,  and,  finding  them  liberal  men,  "Ah,"  they 
said,  "now  we  shall  prosper  like  the  cedars  of  Lebanon!" 
So  they  smoked  their  pipes  and  drank  their  schnapps, 
and  went  about  their  business. 

But  a  man  with  a  crimson  handkerchief  around  his 
head,  who  was  standing  in  the  throng  in  the  market- 
place when  the  English  marched  into  the  town,  looked 
up  with  a  startled  exclamation,  hearing  Barnaby's  shrill 
cry,  and,  with  his  hand  above  his  eyes,  peered  across  the 
sunny  road.  The  glare  was  almost  blinding.  Suddenly 
he  caught  the  elbow  of  the  man  beside  him. 

"By  blue,  it  's  him!" 

* '  Who  's  him  ?  "  said  the  other.  '  *  Where  ? ' '  Then  he 
looked.    "By  glory,  't  is  he!" 

Clapping  his  hand  to  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  he  started 
across  the  market-field  at  the  top  of  his  speed,  the  first 
speaker  close  at  his  heels. 

The  third  of  the  trio,  standing  beside  them,  head  and 
shoulders  above  the  crowd,  looked  after  his  comrades, 
surprised;  then,  seeing  the  boy  on  the  bastion-wall, 
clearly  outlined  against  the  sky,  he  smote  his  huge  hands 
together. 

"They  've  found  him,  by  hen!"  he  exclaimed. 
Parting  the  crowd  before  him  like  a  flock  of  sheep,  he 
darted  across  the  market-field  and  in  at  the  fort-gate. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 
"the  rogue  is  my  apprentice" 

ON  the  stage  at  the  head  of  the  windmill  stair  stood 
John  King  and  Jack  Glasco,  beating  at  the  door. 
Barnaby,  flying  into  the  mill,  had  shut  the  door  and 
barred  it  behind  him  just  as  the  two  came  roaring  up. 
Scarlett  ran  to  join  them,  and  rattled  up  the  stair. 
"Open  the  door!"  cried  King.  "Do  ye  hear  me,  boy? 
Open  the  door!"  Bamaby  drove  the  bar  down  in  its 
sockets  and  thrust  in  the  staying-pin  over  it.  He  could 
feel  the  hot  breath  of  the  master's  mate  like  the  blast  of 
a  bellows  over  his  fingers. 

"Open,  I  say!"  cried  the  captain.  " 'T  will  be  the 
better  for  you ! ' '  The  master 's  mate  was  beating  at  the 
staples  with  a  stone.  *  *  Open  the  door ! "  he  cried  hoarsely. 
Bamaby  ran  for  the  ladder  that  led  up  to  the  storage- 
loft.  He  was  shaking  like  an  aspen,  and  had  broken  into 
a  sweat :  the  unexpectedness  of  the  pursuit  had  taken  the 
courage  out  of  him.  ' '  Open  the  door ! ' '  cried  John  King. 
*  *  Open  the  door,  I  say !  Open  it,  or  I  '11  kill  ye  when  I 
get  this  panel  in!"  Bamaby  felt  the  whole  mill  shake 
with  the  sailing-master's  strength.  He  ran  up  the  ladder 
to  the  loft;  he  was  a  little  cooler  now.  Through  the  open 
window  he  saw  the  backs  of  the  three  at  the  door  below. 

301 


302  Barnaby  Lee 

On  the  floor  of  the  loft  by  the  hoisting-tackle  lay  a  sack 
of  barley-meal.  He  dragged  it  to  the  window.  "Stand 
off,  below,  or  I  '11  throw  down  this  sack  of  barley-meal 
on  ye!"  he  cried.  The  three  strained  against  the  door 
until  the  panels  creaked-  the  master's  mate  crashed  at 
the  staple.  The  three  heaved  together;  the  door-bar 
cracked.  "Stand  off!"  cried  Barnaby,  in  despair,  and 
heaved  out  the  sack. 

One  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  of  meal,  with  twenty 
feet  to  fall,  is  no  light  thing  for  a  missile.  The  barley- 
sack  rushed  down,  its  throat-string  bursting  upon  the 
sill.  Out  leaped  a  cloud  of  meal  like  a  fluff  of  powder- 
smoke.  Whirling  down  the  side  of  the  mill,  swiftly  re- 
volving, and  still  half  full,  the  heavy  sack  struck  the 
three  men  squarely. 

The  three  picaroons  went  down  on  their  faces  as  if  they 
were  struck  by  a  maul.  The  master's  mate  lay  under 
John  King,  with  his  head  in  the  barley-sack.  A  puff  of 
meal  had  caught  Tom  Scarlett  fair  upon  head  and 
shoulders. 

Half  stunned,  half  blinded  by  the  meal,  King  scram- 
bled, coughing,  to  his  feet,  and  groped  about  the  door. 
* '  You  knave,  I  '11  pay  ye  for  this ! "  he  cried.  Cursing, 
he  drew  a  pistol  and  wiped  the  meal  from  his  blinded 
eyes.  But  "Look  out!"  cried  Scarlett.  "Look  out, 
John!"  and  ran  across  the  platform.  "Quick,  I  say; 
put  by  thy  guns,  sink  the  artillery !  Put  by,  I  say.  The 
jig  's  up ! "  Into  the  fort  came  the  provost-guard,  with 
a  sergeant  at  their  head. 


"The  Rogue  is  My  Apprentice"  303 

"What  means  this  riot?"  demanded  the  sergeant. 
"Neither  pillaging  is  countenanced,  nor  quarrels.  De- 
sist, I  command  ye;  and  surrender,  forthwith,  or  I  will 
fire  upon  ye." 

' '  Hold  hard,  there ! ' '  cried  Scarlett,  * '  there  's  no  need 
to  fire.  I  surrender  myself  to  the  hand  of  the  law !  I 
surrender  my  arms!  Don't  level  your  brass  carronades 
at  me;  I  am  not  setting  up  for  a  musketry-butt.  I  be 
fond  o'  this  fleeting  breath!"  And  down  the  mill-stair 
he  went,  knocking  the  meal  from  his  clothes. 

But  John  King  cried  out:  "Arrest  or  no  arrest,  I 
have  a  right  to  my  apprentice.  Take  the  boy  in  the 
windmill;  the  knave  is  bound  to  me." 

"  'T  is  a  lie!"  cried  Barnaby. 

"If  ever  I  lay  hands  on  you,"  cried  King,  hoarsely, 
"I  will  teach  you  more  bitter  truths  than  ever  you 
knew  in  your  life!"  Then,  turning  to  the  sergeant,  "I 
call  upon  you  to  seize  him." 

"I  '11  hale  ye  to  the  Governor,"  said  the  sergeant. 

"Hale  me  to  your  Governor,"  said  King,  defiantly. 
"I  call  on  ye  to  seize  that  knave;  nor  will  I  move  with- 
out him.  The  rogue  is  my  apprentice,  and  I  know  my 
rights. ' ' 

"I  know  naught  of  your  rights  or  wrongs,"  said  the 
provost-sergeant.  "But  I  know  this  much:  you  may 
hold  your  tongue;  and  I  commend  ye  to  hold  it  tight. 
As  to  the  rest,  it  will  be  as  the  Governor  pleases. ' '  Here 
he  turned  to  the  mill.    ' '  Come  down  from  the  loft. ' ' 

"Nay,  must  I  come  down?"  asked  Barnaby. 


304  Barnaby  Lee 

"Have  I  not  said  as  much?"  said  the  sergeant. 

"Ye  '11  not  let  them  lay  hands  on  me?" 

"I  '11  crack  a  spontoon  over  the  head  of  the  man  that 
offers  to.  Come  down,  and  be  quick;  we  have  no  time 
to  waste." 

With  a  heart  like  lead,  poor  Barnaby  came  down  from 
the  windmill  loft. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 


IN   THE    GOVERNOR  S   COURT 


AWEEK  had  come  and  gone  since  that  day  of  New 
Amsterdam's  surrender.  To  New  Amsterdam  it 
had  been  but  six  days  of  life  and  official  stir.  To  Bar- 
naby  Lee  it  had  been  an  age  of  uncertainty  and  despair : 
for  instantly  upon  his  appearance  before  the  Governor, 
John  King  had  laid  claim  to  Barnaby  as  his  runaway 
apprentice,  and  had  set  his  defense  for  attacking  the  mill 
in  the  plea  that  he  was  only  seeking  his  own. 

"The  boy  is  my  apprentice,"  he  said.  "He  has  been 
runaway  since  last  April.  I  have  been  deprived  of  his 
services,  and  I  demand  my  rights." 

It  was  the  court  of  Governor  Nicolls,  held  in  the  Stad 
Huis  council-chamber,  which  looked  out  upon  the  Perel 
Straat  and  the  ships  at  Coenties  Slip.  The  chamber  was 
not  a  large  room,  but  was  dignified  by  usage  for  affairs 
of  state  and  judgments.  At  the  end  toward  the  south, 
with  his  back  to  the  bay,  the  Governor  sat  upon  a  plat- 
form a  little  raised  above  the  rest,  with  tall  oak  chairs, 
and  a  strong,  carved  desk  and  a  table  for  his  papers.  At 
his  right  were  the  burgomeisters,  the  sheriff,  and  the 
schepens,  on  high-backed  benches  of  plain-carved  oak, 

305 


3o6  Barnaby  Lee 

with  cushions  of  russet  leather,  which  on  Sundays  served 
to  furnish  ease  to  long  hours  in  the  state  pews  in  the 
church.  At  the  left  the  parties  to  the  case  were  seated 
upon  common  benches,  with  uncarved  backs,  and  cushion- 
less.  Upon  one  long  bench  were  the  witnesses  from  the 
crew  of  the  Ragged  Staff,  as  bronzed  and  bearded  a  net- 
ful of  rogues  and  burly  scalawags  as  ever  was  pinched 
in  Pick-Thatch  Lane  or  the  purlieus  of  TurnbuU  Alley. 
Before  them,  upon  a  bench,  alone,  sat  the  prisoner.  The 
captain  of  this  crew  of  cut-throats,  John  King  the  pica- 
roon, sat  on  a  chair  to  which  the  rascal  somehow  lent  a 
dignity,  for,  though  a  false  and  truculent  scoundrel, 
a  bully  and  a  braggart,  when  put  to  a  pinch  where  pres- 
ence and  wit  might  serve  to  carry  the  point,  he  had  a 
certain  courage  of  his  own,  and  bore  himself  in  a  cool, 
bold  way,  the  serene  audacity  of  which  had  more  than 
once  puzzled  the  shrewdest. 

He  had  arrayed  himself  for  the  occasion,  with  some- 
what unusual  and  surprising  good  taste,  in  a  plain  but 
rich  dark  suit  of  plush  and  a  handsomely  embroidered 
waistcoat  of  silk.  He  had  combed  his  unkempt  hair, 
was  clean-shaven,  and  wore  the  air  of  an  adventurer  or 
trader  who  made  laws  to  suit  his  own  fancy  when  out 
of  the  reach  of  authority,  but  always  kept  within  bounds 
when  at  home,  in  a  quasi-respectable  manner.  His  huge, 
parrot-beaked  nose  and  long,  underhung  jaw  stamped 
him  no  common  rascal.  Richard  Nicolls  looked  at  him 
with  more  than  common  scrutiny.  Himself  the  son  of 
a  barrister  of  some  note,  and  a  man  of  wide  experience 


I 


In  the  Governor's  Court     307 

as  a  student  of  men,  a  courtier,  a  soldier,  and  an  exile, 
he  was  not  to  be  easily  hoodwinked  by  the  bland  smile  of 
a  villain;  and  speaking  Spanish,  Dutch,  and  French  as 
well  as  he  spoke  English,  capable,  resolute,  honest,  in- 
telligent, fond  of  fair  play,  he  was  ready  to  go  to  the 
bottom  of  things  with  illumining  penetration.  Above 
medium  height,  of  fine,  stately  presence,  well-bred,  fair, 
open,  soldierly  face,  with  sparkling,  deep-set  gray  eyes, 
and  a  mouth  that  was  firm  but  kind,  he  seemed  the  just 
judge,  the  fair  advocate,  the  judicious  seeker  of  facts. 

King,  to  tell  the  truth  frankly,  bore  his  penetrating 
scrutiny  unusually  well,  with  composure  without  bra- 
vado, and  with  the  plain  look  of  an  honest  man  who,  by 
some  ill-advised  blunder,  has  got  himself  into  a  kettle  of 
fish  and  wishes  himself  well  out  of  it.  By  times  he 
looked  at  the  English  arms  which  were  nailed  upon  the 
wall,  by  times  he  gazed  at  the  Governor,  and  by  times 
looked  out  at  the  window,  where  the  common  stocks  and 
the  whipping-post  were  in  plain  view,  but  he  did  not 
long  hold  his  glance  upon  them:  they  inspired  unplea- 
sant thoughts. 

Overhead,  in  the  cupola,  the  Stad  Huis  bell  was  still 
ringing ;  the  long  bell-rope  flapped  up  and  down  through 
the  hole  in  the  boards  below ;  Johannes  Nevius,  who  had 
charge  of  the  library  of  the  law,  had  brought  his  leather- 
bound  volumes  and  stacked  them  upon  the  table;  the 
clerks  were  there  with  ink  and  quill;  the  fresh-tumed 
hour-glass  was  running.  "Oyes,  oyes!"  cried  the  bailiff, 
from  his  stand  behind  the  prisoner.     The  provincial 


3o8  Barnaby  Lee 

court  was  opened  with  the  case  of  "said  Complainant, 
who  doth  aver  that  the  Prisoner  is  his  bounden  Appren- 
tice, and  herein  offereth  Testimony  that  may  Substan- 
tiate said  Claim." 

"Sirs,  your  Excellency  and  your  Honors:  I  respect- 
fully submit  that  my  name  is  Temperance  Pyepott,  of 
Virginia—"  Thus  said  Captain  John  King,  with  a 
deep  and  placatory  bow  to  Governor  Richard  Nicolls  and 
the  benchful  of  magistrates.  The  magistrates  eloquently 
swelled  their  maroon-colored  velvet  breasts,  set  finger  to 
ruffled  waistcoat  and  cuff,  sat  up,  looked  wise,  were  grati- 
fied ;  but  Richard  Nicolls  trimmed  his  eye  under  the  cor- 
ner of  his  eyelid  and  sailed  a  little  closer  to  the  captain's 
breeze.  *  *  I  subsist  bj'  honest  trading  in  these  provinces, ' ' 
continued  King,  in  the  blunt,  plain  manner  he  had  as- 
sumed. Now,  honest  traders  do  not  declare  that  they  are 
honest  traders.  Richard  Nicolls  rubbed  his  chin  and 
trimmed  his  eye  again,  and  laid  his  finger  on  that  point. 
He  did  not  like  King's  crafty  mouth — it  seemed  a  whit 
too  smug ;  and  his  eye  had  an  odd  way  of  swiftly  glanc- 
ing around  the  room  and  coming  back  to  its  first  view- 
point before  one  had  quite  detected  the  motion.  "I  am 
a  plain,  hard-working  mariner,"  said  King,  "and  this 
boy  is  my  bound  apprentice.  He  hath  served  me  four 
year  as  cabin-boy ;  he  hath  three  year  more  to  serve :  I 
bring  witness  to  attest  it.  He  was  bound  to  me  in 
London-town. ' ' 

"You,  of  course,  have  the  indentures?" 
"Indentures?     Nay;  they  have  been  stolen.     I  have 


In  the  Governor's  Court     309 

been  robbed  of  all  my  papers ;  I  have  been  dealt  with  very 
hardly,  sirs ;  yet  I  do  not  say  that  he  took  them. ' ' 

Nieolls  looked  at  the  speaker  sharply.  The  fellow 
seemed  honest,  quite  magnanimous;  yet — somehow  the 
look  of  that  underhung  jaw  made  the  Governor  scruti- 
nize him  inquisitively  once  more. 

"I  fell  in  with  his  father  at  Hancock's,  sirs,  or  else 
't  was  Wynkin  Bradley's,  the  first  shop  in  Pope's  Head 
Alley,  in  Cornhill,  London.  'T  is  the  sign  of  the  Three 
Bibles,"  said  King.  "Sure,  your  Honor  should  know 
it  well:  it  is  a  place  of  good  reputation,  frequented  of 
decent  men. ' ' 

For  the  life  of  him.  Governor  Nieolls  could  not  resist 
asking  the  question,  "Were  you  given  much  to  frequent- 
ing it,  that  it  got  such  a  reputation  ? ' ' 

King's  eyes  flashed  back  such  an  ugly  gleam  that  the 
Governor's  fingers  tightened  suddenly  into  a  vise-like 
grip  upon  a  roll  of  papers  in  them.  "Mm-hm!"  he 
mused.  "Sir  Sheep,  you  have  wolf's  teeth  under  your 
wool.  Don't  show  them  here,  good  friend,  or  I  '11  pull 
them!" 

Perceiving  the  threat  in  the  Governor's  eyes,  the  wily 
rascal  changed  his  tack,  and  turned  his  scowl  of  malevo- 
lence into  obsequious  calm,  not  altogether  with  success. 
"Your  Excellency,  why  be  sarcasticaH"  he  asked,  with 
an  injured  air.  "To  be  sure,  sir,  you  have  the  right 
to  be,  for  might  makes  right  here,  and  I  am  only  a 
iailoring-man,  a  hard-used  mariner.  Yet  I  have  some 
rights,  sirs,  and  I  know  them.     This  boy  is  my  appren- 


3  lo  Barnaby  Lee 

tice,  and  I  have  the  right  to  have  him.  A  man  has  a 
right  to  his  apprentice  wherever  he  may  find  him;  and 
I  have  the  right  also  to  be  paid  in  full  for  ail  the  time 
they  have  kept  him  from  me,  at  the  rate  of  a  shilling 
and  sixpence  the  day,  for  the  boy  is  an  able  hand." 

There  was  justice  in  his  demands;  this  Governor 
Nicolls  knew.  Barnaby 's  story  stood  alone  against  the 
mass  of  testimony.  There  was  probably  not  one  appren- 
tice in  ten  but  would  deny  his  apprenticeship  if,  on  run- 
ning away,  he  was  dragged  into  court.  One  by  one,  John 
King's  witnesses  had  reaffirmed  King's  claim.  Glasco, 
the  sailing-master's  mate,  was  the  first  who  had  testified; 
after  him  Manuel  Pinto,  a  renegade  Portuguese  sailor. 
To  the  best  of  their  knowledge  and  belief  they  had  both 
of  them  testified  that  Barnaby  had  been  cabin-boy  on 
board  the  Ragged  Staff,  apprenticed  to  her  captain  by  his 
father,  a  London  tailor,  who  dwelt  in  a  mews  off  Pope's 
Head  Alley.  That  was  all  they  knew  further  than  that 
the  knave  had  served  but  four  years  and  so  had  three 
years  more  to  serve. 

Both  men  were  deep  in  their  cups,  and  caused  so  much 
disturbance  among  the  other  witnesses  that  when  they 
had  testified  under  oath  they  were  sharply  dismissed 
from  court,  and  ordered  to  their  shipping  under  penalty 
of  the  stocks. 

The  testimony  of  all  the  rest  was  much  to  the  same  end. 
There  were  examined  that  day,  Andrew  Hume,  of  St. 
Catherine's,  William  Ford,  of  Limehouse,  Richard  Bar- 
nard, of  Hull,  in  York,  all  able  mariners ;  and  John  John- 


In  the  Governor's  Court     311 

son,  of  St.  Botolph's,  Aldgate,  the  cook  of  the  Bagged 
Staff.  Not  one  of  these  had  been  of  the  crew  for  more 
than  two  years  at  most,  but  all  avowed  with  alacrity,  born 
of  hot  brandy  and  sugar,  that  Barnaby  Lee  was  appren- 
ticed to  Captain  Temperance  Pyepott,  had  served  four 
years,  had  three  more  to  serve,  and  that  his  time  was 
worth  full  a  shilling  and  sixpence  the  day,  as  an  able 
mariner's  boy. 

A  little  hush  fell  on  the  court-room  while  the  secre- 
taries wrote.  Sick  to  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  Barnaby 
looked  at  the  Governor.  Nicolls  could  scarce  help  a  thrill 
of  compassion  at  seeing  the  boy's  moved  face.  But  testi- 
mony is  testimony,  and  there  seemed  no  way  to  impeach 
it.  Barnaby,  on  his  little  bench,  felt  very  much  alone; 
he  had  never  before  in  all  his  life  felt  so  utterly  forsaken. 
There  was  not  in  the  room  a  soul  that  he  knew.  Out  of 
the  window  beside  him  he  saw  the  church  which  stood 
on  the  hills  beyond  Brooklyn,  and  the  roofs  of  the  little 
village  lying  peacefully  in  the  sun.  He  heard  the  ship- 
watch  singing  upon  the  vessels  in  the  harbor.  The  songs 
which  the  English  sing  are  gay,  but  these  Dutch  songs 
were  melancholy.  A  pinnace  had  just  cast  anchor  below 
the  finger-post.  There  was  a  party  of  gentlemen  in  her, 
and  a  dog  that  was  baying  hoarsely.  Two  wherries  were 
racing  out  from  shore.  He  could  hear  the  boatmen  call- 
ing, and  the  gentlemen  on  board  the  pinnace  laughing 
and  crying  out  to  the  boatmen.  Then  the  company  all 
embarked  in  the  wherries,  and  clapping  their  hands, 
raced  to  the  landing,  and  vanished  behind  the  colony 
warehouse. 


312  Barnaby  Lee 

On  the  glass  of  the  window  some  idler's  hand  had  cut 
the  arms  of  New  Amsterdam,  with  beaver  and  star,  shield 
and  crest ;  nor  was  it  badly  cut.  It  seemed  strange  to  the 
boy,  in  a  dull,  stunned  way,  that  the  fragile  glass  had 
stood  in  its  place  while  an  empire  had  fallen  into  the 
dust. 

There  was  a  noise  of  feet  upon  the  council-chamber 
stair  and  much  confusion  in  the  hallv/ay,  then  voices 
asking  this  and  that;  and  then  the  door  of  the  chamber 
opened,  disclosing  a  cluster  of  gentlemen  standing  in 
the  entry,  staring  into  the  court-room  with  curious,  con- 
fident faces.  There  was  something  of  inspiration  in  the 
touch  of  their  confident  air.  The  captain  of  the  picaroons 
looked  up  with  a  scowl  not  of  welcome.  His  case  was  near 
out,  he  carried  the  day,  and  was  irritated  by  interrup- 
tion ;  at  any  rate,  what  business  had  any  one  interrupting 
here  ? 

"His  Excellency  Charles  Calvert,  Governor  of  Mary- 
land, the  esteemed,  the  honorable ! ' '  said  the  usher. 

The  plaintiff  looked  out  at  the  tail  of  his  eye,  and  all 
at  once  a  shadow  seemed  to  fall  on  his  confident  face. 
Otherwise  his  countenance  was  in  no  wise  discomposed. 
His  mouth  was  firm  and  serene  as  before. 

The  first  who  entered  the  court-room  door  was  the 
Governor  of  Maryland.  With  him  were  Masters  Mar- 
maduke  Tilden,  ITiomas  Nottly,  Baker  Brooke,  Henry 
Sewall,  his  secretary,  and  Master  Robert  Vaughan,  cap- 
tain of  St.  Mary's  Band  of  Fusileers  and  Artillery. 
With  them  were  also  Simeon  Drew,  Master  Cecil  Lang- 


In  the  Governor's  Court     313 

ford,  and  some  other  very  pretty  gentlemen— a  strong 
and  handsome  party. 

As  soon  as  Governor  Nicolls  was  made  aware  who 
waited  upon  his  court  he  came  down  from  his  seat  to  meet 
them,  and  with  dignity  made  them  welcome.  "Ye  do  my 
courts  much  honor,"  he  said,  "by  attending  them  in 
person. ' ' 

"Nay,"  said  Master  Calvert.  "We  are  honored  by 
attendance.  I  avow  that  I  hang  my  head,  sir,  with 
shame,  for  coming  so  late  in  response  to  your  call  for 
colonial  assistance  in  reducing  this  port  to  the  crown. 
Border  warfare  of  our  own  hath  compelled  our  presence 
at  St.  Mary's;  my  hands  were  so  full  that  I  had  none 
to  lend." 

"Don't  trouble  yourself  on  that  score;  we  easily  pre- 
vailed." 

"Faith,  sir,  I  see  the  evidence  of  it;  you  have  turned 
these  Dutch  into  English  as  a  lady  turns  a  glove  on  her 
hand." 

Richard  Nicolls  smiled  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"They  turned  themselves  English,  I  trow." 

"I  presumed  that  my  aid  would  prove  Newcastle 
coals,"  said  Governor  Calvert,  shortly;  "but  conscience 
would  nothing  but  leap  and  prance  until  I  had  paid  you 
my  respects.  Even  so  I  might  still  have  been  derelict 
had  not  my  cousin  insisted.  Ye  remember  him,  Philip 
Calvert ;  you  were  acquainted  at  Brest. ' '  He  turned  his 
face  a  little  and  looked  around  the  court-room. 

He  was  thin,  and  his  face  was  a  trifle  pale;  though  a 


314  Barnaby  Lee 

little  touched  with  color  and  smoothed  with  rice-powder, 
there  was  pallor  under  the  color.  He  stood  with  one 
shoulder  sunk;  his  black  hair  hung  down  in  curls  upon 
his  shoulders,  tied  back  with  a  gay,  bright,  cherry-red 
ribbon,  as  it  was  on  the  morning  when  Barnaby  first 
saw  him  in  Maryland,  His  coat  and  breeches  were  blue 
and  silver,  and  he  had  a  smart  cocked  hat  in  his  hand. 

' '  That  's  a  charming  face, ' '  he  said,  staring  at  Captain 
John  King. 

The  light  lay  fair  on  the  picaroon's  face,  and  he  eyed 
the  Governor  of  Maryland  with  the  bold  serenity  and 
composure  that  had  imposed  upon  many  as  shrewd  a 
man.  His  eyes  for  the  instant  stood  steady;  he  twisted 
his  fingers  a  little. 

Then  Calvert  turned  to  Nicolls  and  laid  his  hand  upon 
his  arm  with  an  odd  look  upon  his  face — one  had  almost 
said  it  was  shamefaced.  He  bit  his  lip ;  then  with  deep- 
est seriousness  began  to  speak  in  a  low  tone,  with  a 
rapidity  that  almost  baffled  his  hearer;  for  few  could 
speak  with  the  rapidity  of  the  Cal verts  when  they  were 
in  earnest,  or  equal  the  incisive  directness  and  clarity 
of  their  language.  It  had  a  quality  all  its  own,  a  lumi- 
nous insistence  upon  the  point  at  issue,  a  neglect  of  all 
the  rest,  convincing  in  its  argument,  persuasive  in  its 
feeling. 

Nicolls  started,  listened,  stared,  "You  do  not  say! 
By  gad!  the  rogue,  the  dirty  thief  of  the  world!"  And 
then,  "Why,  surely,  here  's  the  case  itself,"  said  he. 
"Come  up  and  manage  it  as  ye  please;  and  my  assur- 
ance to  ye,  sir  I'* 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

IN   SIGHT   OF   THE   GALLOWS-TREE 

MASTER  CALVERT  took  his  seat  on  the  bench  by 
the  Governor,  and  facing  sharply  about,  stared  at 
John  King.  *'What  did  you  say  your  name  is?"  he 
asked,  with  a  keen,  penetrant  look  that  was  not  to  be 
avoided. 

King  met  it,  and  eyed  him,  not  winking  an  eyelash. 
"My  name  is  Temperance  Pyepott,"  he  said.  "It  is  the 
honest  name  of  an  honest  seaman,  with  no  et  ceteras  to 
it." 

"Very  like,"  said  the  Governor  of  Maryland.  "What 
is  your  trade  ? ' ' 

'  *  I  am  a  coastwise  merchant  and  bargainer. ' ' 

"You  have  a  permit?" 

"My  papers  have  been  stolen." 

"  'A  calamitous  convenience,'  to  quote  from  Henry 
Fleet." 

Henry  Fleet  was  a  pirate  who  had  been  hanged  for  his 
piracies. 

John  King  stared  fixedly  at  his  interrogator,  with 
cheeks  turning  purple-red.  "Henry  Fleet?"  he  said, 
chokingly.    "What  's  that  to  me?" 

315 


3 1 6  Barnaby  Lee 


"I  do  not  know,"  replied  Calvert;  "you  are  your  own 
doctor. ' ' 

The  plaintiff  sat  eying  his  questioner  with  a  new  and 
almost  fierce  look  of  defiance.  To  be  tried  for  a  liar  is 
one  thing;  to  be  tried  for  one's  life  is  another.  He 
twisted  his  fingers  uneasily  together,  and  began  to  move 
his  feet  about,  while  he  eyed  the  Governor  of  Maryland 
with  an  odd,  puzzled  look,  as  if  trying  to  conjecture  what 
he  was  up  to.  Out  of  the  western  window  he  could  see 
the  narrow  street  winding  away  to  the  market-field,  and 
the  fort-wall  closing  the  way  like  a  dike.  Over  the  fort 
on  the  river-shore  was  a  gallows-tree,  dangling  a  shred 
of  rope  in  a  melancholy  breeze;  and  a  gallows-tree  is  no 
pretty  sight  at  the  very  best  of  times. 

"Captain  Temperance  Pyepott,"  said  Master  Calvert, 
sharply,  with  a  certain  sternness  in  his  voice  not  there 
before,  "you  say  that  your  name  is  'Temperance  Pye- 
pott,' with  no  et  ceteras;  there  are  certain  et  ceteras  to 
your  name  that  you  have  been  blithe  to  forget." 

For  an  instant  the  flush  died  out  of  John  King's  brutal 
face,  and  nothing  but  a  bruise  remained  to  color  the  ashy 
surface;  he  began  to  look  about  him  with  quick,  covert 
glances. 

' '  What  your  real  name  is, ' '  pursued  Calvert, ' '  does  not 
alter  the  facts  in  the  case.  You  were  with  Henry  Fleet 
in  the  Tiger  when  he  took  the  Mercedes;  you  were  with 
Jem  Percy  at  the  sacking  of  Bay  Island. ' ' 

King  looked  up  with  a  smothered  cry,  and  made  aa  if 


In  Sight  of  the  Gallows-tree  317 

to  speak ;  but  Calvert  stopped  him  with  a  gesture.  ' '  You 
were  also  with  Nat  Godolphin,  Solomon  Fry,  and  Barney 
Hall  at  the  plundering  of  Cornwalleys  Manor  in  1659. 
Are  you  right  sure  that  your  name  is  Pyepott?" 

"My  name  is  Temperance  Pyepott;  is  there  need  to 
repeat  it?" 

"Nay;  but  it  occurred  to  me  that  perchance  it  might 
be  Haman." 

' '  Haman  ? ' '  said  John  King,  sullenly.  ' '  I  never  heard 
of  the  rogue." 

"Well,  that  is  no  matter,  Captain  Pyepott;  he  was 
hanged. ' ' 

"Hanged?" 

"Yes— for  the  sake  of  a  good  example:  not  much  of 
a  matter.    Men  have  been  hanged  for  more  and  for  less. ' ' 

The  plaintiff  sank  back  in  his  chair,  his  fingers  clenched 
in  the  coarse  black  hair  that  dangled  down  his  cheeks. 
Sweat  had  begun  to  come  out  and  to  stand  in  beads  on 
his  forehead.  He  put  up  his  other  hand  to  wipe  them  off, 
but  the  hand  moved  aimlessly  toward  his  face  and  only 
touched  his  cheek. 

"You  were  also  at  St.  Mary's  when  Claiborne  pillaged 
our  capital ;  and,  sir,  there  was  never  a  Pyepott  there, 
much  less  any  temperate  ones.  I  have  begun  to  wonder, 
captain,  just  what  your  real  name  might  be." 

King  was  growing  uneasy  at  his  questioner's  banter- 
ing tone;  but  the  Governor's  thin  face  grew  threatening 
as  his  bantering  went  on:    "You  are  not  Joe  Bryce,  for 


3 1 8  Barnaby  Lee 

he  was  shot ;  nor  are  you  Tom  Smith  of  Kent  Island,  for 
he  was  taken  and  hanged.  Coursey,"  he  asked,  turning 
suddenly,  "please  to  hand  me  that  list  of  names," 

King  sprang  to  his  feet  to  exclaim  against  this  sum- 
mary procedure,  but  was  met  by  a  look  on  the  Governor's 
face  that  took  all  the  spring  from  his  knees.  "Soft, 
Captain  Pyepott;  before  ye  do  anything  touching  on 
rash,  pray  look  at  the  landscape!"  said  he,  with  a  wave 
of  his  hand  toward  the  window. 

John  King  looked  out,  and  across  his  face  came  a 
ghastly  attempt  at  a  smile,  for  all  he  could  see  was  the 
gallows  and  the  rope. 

"It  strikes  me,  Captain  Pyepott,"  continued  the  Gov- 
ernor, quietly,  taking  up  a  bit  of  string  that  was  lying 
upon  the  desk  before  him,  "that  you  have  made  a  great 
mistake  in  some  of  your  calculations.  You  say  that  this 
boy  is  bound  to  you;  don't  you  think  that  you  make  an 
error  ? ' ' 

"No;  the  knave  was  bound  apprentice  to  me  four 
years  ago,  in  London." 

" Four  years  ago ?  Are  ye  certain  of  that?  Don't  ye 
think  that  his  time  is  out?" 

"Nay;  his  time  is  a  deal  not  out.  He  hath  three  years 
more  to  serve.    I  've  a  right  to  him,  and  I  want  him." 

Governor  Calvert  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  did  a 
most  incomprehensible  thing.  He  shut  one  eye  very 
slowly,  cocked  his  head  on  one  side,  and  making  a  little 
running  noose  out  of  the  bit  of  string  in  his  hand,  he  held 
it  up  admiringly.  King  watched  him  as  though  he  were 
fascinated. 


In  Sight  of  the  Gallows-tree  319 

"Master  Temperance  Pyepott,"  continued  Master 
Calvert,  "a  complaint  hath  been  lodged  at  St.  Mary's, 
by  Griffith  &  Company  of  London,  that  four  years  ago 
they  despatched  a  ship  to  the  Chesapeake  to  trade.  Her 
name  was  the  Earl  of  Warwick,  her  commission  to  re- 
turn one  year  from  the  date  of  her  sailing.  Since  that 
day,  the  complainants  aver,  there  hath  been  nothing  seen 
or  heard  from  their  vessel.  They  further  assert  that  her 
master  hath  stolen  their  vessel  in  question,  and  hath 
turned  her  into  a  picaroon,  to  their  much  loss  and  greater 
discredit. ' ' 

John  King  looked  up  with  a  smothered  oath.  His  face 
was  very  white. 

"Griffith  &  Company  further  allege  that  this  vessel 
and  her  commander  make  rendezvous  and  harbor  in  the 
ports  of  Maryland,  to  the  dishonor  of  the  colony  and  the 
reproach  of  our  government." 

"My  lords,"  cried  King,  "and  your  Honor,  this  is  be- 
yond all  precedent  I" 

"Hold  your  peace,"  replied  Nicolls.  "In  new  coun- 
tries 't  is  the  fashion  to  establish  precedents." 

King  held  his  peace,  but  watched  Charles  Calvert  as 
a  rat  might  watch  a  cat. 

"Now,  Master  Temperance  Pyepott,"  said  Master  Cal- 
vert, quietly,  * '  if  you  still  insist  upon  having  your  rights, 
we  are  ready  to  see  that  you  have  them.  The  only  ques- 
tion remaining  is,  How  much  do  you  want  to  have 
them?"  He  took  up  the  little  slip-noose  in  his  hand  and 
put  it  around  his  finger.    * '  I  think  it  exceedingly  dubious 


320  Barnaby  Lee 

that  you  ever  had  an  apprentice.  If  you  insist  upon  an 
apprentice,  don't  ye  think  that  it  verges  on  folly  so  to 
insist  as  to  cause  us  to  remember  some  things  that  you 
wish  we  might  forget?  Come  now,  Master  Temperance 
Pyepott,  as  we  look  at  the  pretty  view,  does  it  not  strike 
you  forcibly  that  you  do  not  want  your  apprentice  half 
so  much  as  you  thought  you  did  1 ' ' 

Out  of  the  western  window  against  the  sunset  the  gal- 
lows dangled  its  strand  of  hemp. 

"How  much  do  you  want  your  apprentice?"  asked 
Calvert,  quietly,  looking  out  of  the  window  with  a  half- 
reflective  air. 

"I  do  not  want  him  so  much  as  that!"  replied  the 
picaroon,  hoarsely.  He  could  not  take  his  dark  eyes  f roi^ 
the  gallows. 

"In  fact,  you  '11  be  hanged  if  you  do !  A  sensible  con- 
clusion, ' '  said  Calvert,  placidly.  ' '  You  are  a  wiser  rogue 
than  I  thought  you;  I  must  say  that  much  for  you. 
*  Hanged '  is  none  too  pretty  a  word,  I  think  you  '11  agree 
with,  me ;  but  pretty  or  not,  it  would  have  made  a  very 
sweet  et  cetera  to  your  name." 

King  rose  heavily  to  his  feet.  "My  lords,"  he  said, 
* '  and  masters,  your  Honors,  sirs,  is  this  the  course  of  law 
in  these  provinces  ? "  A  trodden  snake  will  strike,  and  a 
cornered  rat  may  bite.  The  blood  had  surged  up  into 
the  picaroon's  face,  and  he  struck  the  ledge  of  the  railing 
that  ran  around  the  platform  where  the  judges  held 
their  seats.  "For  if  this  be  the  law,"  he  continued, 
with  passionate  vehemence,  '  *  if  interlopers  can  say  their 


In  Sight  of  the  Gallows-tree  321 

say,  bully  men  down,  and  talk  of  hanging,  common  men 
may  have  their  say,  despite  your  gentry ;  and  I  '11  have 
mine :  that  in  your  teeth !  By  glory,  I  have  a  tale  I  can 
tell  that  will  make  some  pretty  people  wince,  and  I 
promise  you  that  their  large  talk  will  dwindle  very  small 
before  I  am  done  with  my  story!" 

His  eyes  had  gathered  fierceness  out  of  their  sheer 
malevolence;  then  something  seemed  to  rise  in  his  throat 
and  stop  his  bluster:  he  had  seen  a  gleam  from  Master 
Calvert's  eyes,  and  a  gesture  of  his  hand. 

The  Governor  of  Maryland  rose  to  his  feet  and  took  a 
step  nearer  to  the  railing.  "We  know  the  tale  you  would 
tell,  you  conscienceless,  black-hearted  rogue !  I  heard  it 
from  very  first  to  last,  three  weeks  ago.  That  story  is  over 
and  ended;  and  you  have  come  the  day  after  the  fair. 
You  may  thank  the  mistakes  of  others  for  my  clemency 
toward  you;  I  am  within  an  ace  of  hanging  you,  story 
or  no,  for  your  too  many  offenses.  A  private  shame  may 
be  covered,  but  you  have  made  yourself  a  public  scan- 
dal!" 

"True,"  said  Governor  Nicolls,  "as  the  Gospel  of  St. 
John." 

"You  have  harbored  in  my  rivers  and  crept  about  my 
coasts  until  the  country  rings  with  your  villainy,"  con- 
tinued the  Governor  of  Maryland.  "I  have  enough 
against  you  to  hang  you  forty  times;  yet  here,  for  thft 
sake  of  another,  I  give  you  quittance.  But,  sirrah, ' '  an^ 
here  his  face  flushed  with  sudden  hot  resentment,  "1 
warn  you  off  these  generfll  coasts ;  off  mine  in  particular. 


3  22  Barnaby  Lee 

If  you  slip  keel  within  my  grants,  or  trespass  on  my  far- 
therest  border,  by  the  Earls  of  Tyrconnell,  I  take  an  oath, 
I  will  sink  your  ship  and  harry  you  out  until  your  boot- 
soles  cry !  Now  off  to  your  ship  and  out  of  our  harbors 
as  fast  as  you  can  set  your  sails.  And  don 't  ye  cross  my 
path  again,  or  I  shall  forget  my  clemency,— given  you 
here  for  the  sake  of  one  whom,  for  God's  grace,  I  must 
needs  forgive, — and  hang  you  out  of  hand!" 

"To  that  do  I  set  hand  and  seal  likewise,"  spoke  up 
Nicolls,  sharply;  "and  I  give  ye  just  twenty- four  hours, 
sirrah,  to  ship  yourself  out  of  my  borders.  Enough;  be 
out  of  my  presence ! "  he  said,  rising  with  quick  decision. 
"Clerk,  adjourn  me  this  court;  the  complainant  hath  lost 
his  suit. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

FAEEWELL,    JOHN  KING ! 

THE  picaroon  raised  his  head.  His  face  was  pale, 
and  his  hair  was  thick  and  wet  with  sweat  where 
it  lay  along  his  seamy  forehead.  His  eyes  went  slinking 
around  the  room;  his  faltering  lips  were  bitter  and  wet. 
"I  will  have  my  day!"  he  said.  But  his  bolt  was  shot; 
and  he  had  missed  his  aim.  ''John  King,  pass  on!" 
said  Fate. 

Out  of  the  threatening  court  he  slunk  into  the  dusky 
street,  and  as  he  went  the  very  door-posts  seemed  to  say, 
**Pass  on!"  Out  of  the  court  and  down  the  street  he 
hurried  with  sidewise,  skulking  gait,  into  the  shadows 
of  Winckel  Street,  on  and  out  of  the  sight  of  man. 

Into  the  twilight  went  John  King,  and  Winckel  Street 
was  still,  but  the  little  yellow  windows  seemed  to  say  to 
themselves,  "Pass  on,  John  King;  pass  on!" 

Into  the  shadow  and  the  silence  of  the  falling  night 
went  John  King  the  picaroon.  The  shadow  covered  him 
over,  and  the  night's  silence  swallowed  him.  He  was 
seen  no  more,  and  nobody  cared,  and  nobody  mourned 
for  him.  It  is  said  that  he  sank  off  Barbadoes  in  a  hur- 
ricane, years  after ;  but  the  truth  of  this  rumor  no  man 

323 


324  Barnaby  Lee 

may  affirm,  further  than  this  much:  John  King  had 
passed  on.  Jack  Glasco  was  stabbed  at  Martinique.  So 
ended  the  lives  of  two  precious  villains  who  had  measured 
out  to  them  judgments  such  as  they  meted  forth. 

Barnaby  sat  on  the  prisoner's  bench  as  if  he  were  in  a 
dream.  What  it  all  meant  he  had  not  an  idea.  It  was 
impossible !  As  they  came  down  from  the  judgment-seat, 
Master  Charles  Calvert  looked  at  him  across  the  room, 
and  nodded  with  a  smile,  then,  crossing  the  chamber, 
came  up  to  the  staring  boy  and  took  him  by  the  hand. 

"Well,  Master  Lee,"  said  he,  laughing  and  bowing, 
"we  came  in  the  nick  of  time.  I  am  glad  to  have  done  ye 
the  service." 

Barnaby  looked  at  him.  "And  sure,  lad;  we  owe  ye 
enough  to  be  glad  of  a  little  credit."  The  Governor's 
olive  cheek  was  flushed,  and  his  kind  voice  nervously 
sharp.  "You  will  stay  with  us  at  the  tavern?  A  jail 
is  no  place  for  a  gentleman;  though  there  's  some  that 
were  far  better  in  one,  no  doubt. ' '  This  last  with  a  grim 
chuckle. 

Barnaby  stared  at  him  bewildered.  He  thought  Master 
Calvert  must  be  losing  his  wits.  The  Governor  held  the 
boy's  hand  in  his  own  with  continued  friendly  pressure. 

"When  you  come  to  Maryland,"  he  said,  "you  will  not 
forget  us?  My  wife  has  lost  her  heart  to  that  face  of 
yours;  drop  in  at  my  castle  anv  time  and  take  pot-luck 
with  us. ' ' 

By  this  time  Barnaby  was  quite  sure  tfiey  both  were 


■Ul 


/. »» 


i       -sa    ♦•._.      I -. 


:-t 


"  '  NOW,  MASTER  LEE,'  SAID  HE,  '  I  'VE  A  STBANOB  STOBT  TO  TELL  YOU.' 


I 


Farewell,  John  King!        ^2^ 

losing  their  wits.  His  mind  still  swam  with  unforgotten 
dread. 

"How  now!"  cried  Master  Calvert,  "and  what  's  the 
matter  with  ye?  Do  ye  think  me  driving  hindforemost, 
my  cart  before  the  horse?  Drew!  Drew!  Simeon 
Drew  !  What !  here ! "  he  cried,  beckoning.  *  *  Let  me 
make  ye  acquaint  with  your  new  client !  You  *11  be  after 
having  a  talk  upon  business,  I  am  thinking."  The 
lawyer  came  quickly  across  the  room.  "Master  Lee- 
Master  Simeon  Drew,"  the  Governor  said,  presenting 
them. 

'  *  Master  Lee,  I  am  glad  to  meet  ye, ' '  said  Drew,  with  a 
wise,  quiet  bow,  regarding  the  boy  with  a  scrutiny  that 
puzzled  Barnaby.  "Be  assured,  I  am  heartily  glad  to 
meet  ye ! "  said  the  dry  old  honest  lawyer,  as  he  studied 
the  boy 's  face,  '  *  I  trust  our  mutual  acquaintance  will  be 
profitable  to  us  both !" 

The  court-room  was  nigh  deserted;  Governor  Nicolls 
was  coming  up.  "By  your  leave.  Master  Lee,"  said 
Drew,  "by  your  leave,  we  two  should  be  having  a  thor- 
ough-done private  colloguing  together.  There  's  a  quiet 
room  in  the  tavern  around  the  comer;  I  think  that  we 
should  be  off  to  it;  so,  by  your  leave,  your  Excellency, 
and  by  your  permission.  Master  Lee ! '  * 

Pulling  the  bewildered  boy's  arm  through  his  own, 
with  a  very  low  bow  to  all.  Drew  trundled  him  to  the 
tavern,  plumped  him  down  in  an  arm-chair  in  the  snug- 
gest room  that  ever  was  kept  in  privacy  for  the  guests 
of  an  ordinary,  and  seated  himself  in  an  opposite  chair. 


326  Barnaby  Lee 

"Now,  Master  Lee,"  said  he,  "I  've  a  strange  story  to 
tell  you,  for  its  extremest  beginning  and  last  tail-ending 
is  all  that  I  shall  tell.  The  beginning  ye  may  have  some 
knowledge  of,  but  the  middle  is  lost ;  and  't  is  very  much 
better  for  all  concerned  that  we  let  it  all  fade  but  the 
moral.  Will  ye  promise  to  take  my  word  for  it,  and  trust 
my  verity?  I  am  an  old  man,  as  ye  see." 
"I  promise,"  said  Barnaby. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE   RUIN   OF   VAN   SWERINGEN 

SO  much  for  what  happened  to  Barnaby ;  in  the  mean- 
while, what  had  been  happening  to  Mynheer  Van 
Sweringen  ? 

He  fought  the  Mohegans  in  the  forests  beyond  Bever- 
wyck,  driving  their  war-bands  before  him,  consuming 
their  stores  of  maize,  slaying  all  who  opposed  him,  and 
destroying  their  villages,  until  the  savages  begged  for 
mercy. 

Having  no  communication  with  the  world  behind  him, 
he  kept  his  face  turned  steadfastly  to  the  needs  of  each 
passing  hour,  and  dealt  sorrow  to  his  countrymen's  foe 
with  a  hand  that  knew  no  stay.  His  days  went  by  with 
battle  and  his  nights  with  watchfulness,  until  on  the 
night  of  a  troubled  day  in  the  forepart  of  September,  as 
he  sat  by  his  camp-fire  in  the  wood,  beside  a  little  brook, 
a  man  came  up  through  the  forest  from  the  south,  with 
the  pack  of  a  hunter  upon  his  back  and  a  musket  in  his 
hand. 

"Heida,  comrades,  what  seek  ye  here  in  the  woods  of 
Beverwyck?"  called  the  man  from  the  opposite  side  of 
the  brook,  as  he  stopped  and  stared  at  their  party. 

327 


328  Barnaby  Lee 

Van  Sweringen  answered  him:  "We  seek  vengeance 
upon  the  savages,  for  the  slaying  of  Abraham  Staets." 

"Who  strike  ye  for?" 

"For  New  Netherland." 

"Then  ye  strike  for  a  will-o'-the-wisp,"  said  the  man. 
"New  Netherland  is  no  more." 

*  *  That  is  a  lie, ' '  replied  Van  Sweringen. 

"I  do  not  lie,"  said  the  huntsman. 

"Then  it  is  a  rumor  thou  hast  heard— one  that  is  false 
and  vain." 

"It  is  neither  a  rumor,  nor  false  and  vain.  The  news 
is  in  all  the  valley.  Ye  may  go  and  hear  it  for  your- 
selves. ' ' 

Then  Van  Sweringen  called  the  man  across  th^  brodk 
and  seated  him  in  the  camp,  and  gave  him  provision, 
although  their  own  was  falling  short.  "Eat  and  drink," 
he  said,  and  with  that  gave  the  hunter  wine  from  the 
flask  at  his  belt.  "As  for  me,  I  shall  neither  eat  nor 
drink  until  I  have  proved  the  truth  or  the  utter  falsity 
of  this  tale." 

"It  is  as  I  say,"  the  hunter  answered.  "New  Neth- 
erland hath  fallen. "  So  he  ate  and  drank  and  slept  with 
them,  and  when  morning  came  went  his  way  up  the 
Mohawk  trail  into  the  wilderness. 

But  Van  Sweringen  and  his  company  came  down  from 
the  hills  through  the  forest  to  Beverwj'^ck,  which  lay  by 
the  gate  of  Fort  Orange,  and  came  into  view  of  the  pali- 
sades of  the  town  while  the  dew  still  lay  on  the  grass  and 
the  sun  was  coming  over  the  hills. 


The  Ruin  of  Van  Sweringen   329 

There  was  a  man  working  in  a  field  before  the  town 
gates.  Van  Sweringen  halted  and  hailed  him:  '*Hola, 
there,  kerel!  what  is  the  news "? "  he  cried. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  the  man  looked  up,  and, 
'  *  Who  art  thou, ' '  he  asked,  '  *  that  ye  come  with  your  com- 
pany asking  news  in  the  fields  at  five  o  'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing?" 

At  this  answer  Van  Sweringen  leaped  the  fence  and 
took  the  man  by  the  neck.  '*I  asked  thee  what  is  the 
news, ' '  he  said  sharply ;"  it  is  no  matter  who  I  am. ' ' 

The  man  fell  on  his  knees  and  groveled.  "Oh,  sir, 
spare  my  life,"  he  begged.  "I  meant  ye  no  offense. 
New  Amsterdam  is  fallen,  and  New  Netherland  is  no 
more;  that  is  all  the  news  I  know."  Then  from  their 
arms  and  warlike  array  taking  them  to  be  English,  and 
thinking  to  placate  them,  he  raised  a  feeble  cry  of  "God 
save  the  King ! ' '  and  threw  his  cap  into  the  air. 

Gerrit  Van  Sweringen  looked  once  at  him,  then  turned 
quickly  away,  and  asked  no  more  of  any  man  for  news, 
but  went  into  the  town,  and  after  much  persistency 
obtained  six  saddle-horses  from  one  stanch-hearted 
burgher,  though  spiteful  words  and  contumely  from 
almost  all  the  rest,  which  he  passed  by,  saying  only :  "  I 
have  no  time  now  to  quarrel ;  but  if  ever  I  come  this  road 
again,  we  shall  settle  this  between  us ! "  And  leaving 
Beverwyck  at  noon,  with  three  of  his  men  beside  him,  he 
rode  post-haste  for  New  Amsterdam,  sending  his  com- 
pany down  by  yachts. 

The  yachts,  with  wind  and  tide  and  stream,  came  down 


330  Barnaby  Lee 

in  four  days ;  but  those  who  rode  on  horseback,  galloping 
down  through  the  highlands,  past  Storm  King,  by  the 
Esopus  and  through  Haarlem  village,  came  in  sight  of 
the  gates  of  the  fallen  city  on  the  third  day  in  the  even- 
ing, just  as  the  sun  was  going  down. 

As  their  weary  horses  stumbled  down  the  hills  among 
the  bouweries  and  meadows,  they  came  to  Peter  Stuy- 
vesant,  standing  at  a  gate,  breaking  his  heart  there  in  the 
twilight  alone.  Van  Sweringen  reined  his  horse  to  a 
stand.  "What  is  this,  your  Excellency,"  he  asked, 
**that  wanderers  tell  in  all  the  wayside  inns?  What  is 
this  lie  that  men  have  brought  to  me  in  the  forests 
of  Beverwyck?  In  my  soul's  name,  what  doth  it 
mean?" 

*  *  It  is  no  lie, ' '  said  Stuyvesant,  turning  his  face  away. 
The  tears  were  running  down  his  cheeks.  * '  We  have  sold 
our  birthright  and  our  honor  for  a  mess  of  traitors' 
pottage:  New  Amsterdam  hath  fallen;  our  kingdom  is 
passed  away." 

"Without  a  blow?"  cried  Van  Sweringen. 

' '  Without  a  blow, ' '  said  Stuyvesant. 

A  man  who  was  standing  in  the  road  came  up  to  them 
at  this.  "Mynheeren,"  he  asked,  "is  one  of  your  com- 
pany the  Sheriff  of  New  Amstel?" 

"I  am,"  replied  Van  Sweringen.  "What  is  it  to 
t*hee?" 

"Naught  to  me,  but  all  to  thee,"  replied  the  man, 
simply.  "The  English  have  seized  New  Amstel,  taking 
all  that  was  there  to  be  taken.     Sir  Robert  Carr  hath 


The  Ruin  of  Van  Sweringen    331 

plundered  thy  store  and  thine  house,  and  hath  given  them 
both  to  his  son. ' ' 

Van  Sweringen 's  garments  were  powdered  gray  with 
dust,  and  the  dry  mud  from  the  water-pools  clung  in  his 
hair.  The  foam  of  his  horse 's  nostrils  was  in  spots  upon 
his  cheek.  There  was  no  color  in  his  countenance,  no 
luster  in  his  eyes;  his  face  was  haggard.  His  horse's 
head  hung  almost  to  the  earth,  and  its  knees  tottered  with 
weariness ;  its  sunk  flanks  heaved ;  its  eyes  were  glazed. 
Its  rider  sat  upon  its  back  as  though  he  were  a  dead  man. 
Down  from  the  hill  the  flocks  came  bleating  homeward; 
from  the  fields  beyond  the  orchards  the  cattle  followed, 
lowing  heavily.  The  town  grew  gray;  yellow  candles 
began  to  peep.  The  glow  was  gone  out  of  the  western 
sky,  and  the  whir  of  the  locusts  in  the  orchard  failed, 
like  the  sound  of  a  spinning-wheel  whose  treadle  is  left 
untrodden. 

Van  Sweringen  drew  himself  up  and  looked  about 
him.  "Without  a  blow!"  he  said  wearily,  as  if  there 
were  no  one  near,  and  as  if  he  had  not  heard  the  man 
who  had  just  spoken  to  him.  Then,  drawing  his  sword 
from  its  scabbard,  he  kissed  its  long,  straight,  splendid 
blade,  and,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  anguish,  broke  it  in 
two  across  his  knee ;  and  standing  as  high  as  he  could  in 
his  stirrups,  he  threw  the  pieces  over  the  wall  into  the 
dusty  meadow-grass.  "Farewell,  good  blade,  forever 
more!"  he  said.  "Forged  in  honor,  honorably  borne, 
shalt  never  be  drawn  to  dishonor.  Thou  wast  wrought 
to  strike  for  the  Netherlands;  an  thou  mayst  not  strike 


2  22  Barnaby  Lee 

for  the  Netherlands,  thou  shalt  never  strike  again.  Fare- 
well, good  friend  and  comrade,  farewell !  Thy  steel  was 
for  the  Netherlands ;  my  hands  are  for  Van  Sweringen. ' ' 

Then  all  at  once  he  stretched  his  hands  out  before  him, 
saying,  in  a  piteous,  choking  voice,  ' '  They  are  all  that  is 
left;  I  am  ruined!"  For  at  first  he  was  thinking  of 
himself;  but  now  he  thought  of  his  wife  and  daughter. 

With  a  face  like  the  face  of  the  dead  Cid  Campeador 
when  he  rode  from  old  Valencia  against  King  Bucan's 
horde,  Van  Sweringen  came  down  to  the  city  gate.  The 
gates  were  closed  and  the  guard  was  set. 

"Halt!"  cried  the  sentry;  "what  is  the  word?" 

*  *  I  have  no  word, ' '  said  Van  Sweringen. 

"Are  ye  friend  or  foe?"  said  the  sentry. 

"I  know  not,"  answered  Van  Sweringen.  "I  was  the 
Sheriff  of  New  Amstel :  I  am  what  ye  have  made  me. '  * 

The  soldier  stared  at  him  through  the  twilight;  a  cor- 
poral came  and  stared;  then,  turning  his  head  away, 
coughed.  "In  God's  name,  ride  in,"  said  the  sentinel, 
and  Van  Sweringen  rode  in. 

When  he  had  found  the  house  where  his  wife  and 
daughter  were  staying,  he  went  in  quickly.  His  wife  was 
sitting  at  the  window.  "Barbara,"  he  said,  "I  am 
ruined  ! ' '  and  there  stopped,  for  he  was  choking. 

She  looked  up  quietly.  "Yes,  Gerrit,"  she  said,  "I 
had  heard  of  it.  They  cannot  say  that  I  married  thee 
for  thy  money  any  more!"  and  with  that  she  laughed 
very  softly. 

"But  I  am  a  beggar,  Barbara;  they  have  taken  every- 


The  Ruin  of  Van  Sweringen    333 

thing  that  I  owned,"  he  cried.  "I  have  not  a  guilder 
to  my  name ;  I  am  brought  to  beggary. ' ' 

' '  Nay,  then,  what  of  that  ? ' '  she  said,  rising  and  laying 
her  slender,  firm  hands  on  his  shoulders.  "Art  still  the 
man  thou  wast  before,  I  am  just  as  rich  in  thee,  dear 
heart,  as  ever  I  was.  To  be  ruined  without  fault  is  no 
disgrace.     Be  comforted;  be  comforted!" 

But  he  could  not  be  comforted,  for  his  heart  was  bitter 
within  him,  and  heavy  as  a  stone.  His  empty  scabbard 
rattled  mockingly  as  he  moved  to  and  fro,  and  the 
shadows  in  the  room  seemed  gibbering  at  the  misfortune 
that  had  come  upon  him.  He  threw  himself  down  in  a 
chair  by  the  fireside  and  stared  into  the  ashes  with  a  face 
that  was  white  with  despair. 

His  wife  came  and  sat  down  beside  him.  "Gerrit,  as 
for  me,"  she  said,  "it  matters  not  one  whit.  I  gave  up 
home  and  everything  to  go  with  thee.  I  knew  not  whither 
our  way  should  run,  nor  what  should  betide.  I  gave  all 
to  be  with  thee ;  and  I  am  with  thee.  I  ask  no  more,  being 
satisfied.  Once  was  I  poor;  I  am  poor  again.  Dear 
heart,  what  doth  it  matter  ?  A  woman  would  rather  have 
her  own  way  with  the  man  she  truly  loves  than  to  run 
through  a  rain  of  guilders  with  an  apron  to  catch  them 
in.  I  have  my  way  with  thee,  Gerrit,  and  I  am  satisfied. 
Laugh  at  me  an  thou  wilt,  dear  heart;  I  am  satisfied." 

But  he  looked  at  her  as  a  wounded  dog  might  look  at 
one  who  strokes  its  head.  The  deeper  the  heart  the 
deeper  the  hurt ;  and  he  was  no  shallow  man.  He  looked 
at  her,  but  he  could  not  speak.    He  arose,  instead,  and 


334  Barnaby  Lee 

walked  the  floor,  for  his  bitterness  was  great.  "Be  not 
impatient  with  me,"  he  said;  "I  shall  be  comforted 
after  a  while.  But  now!"  and  he  struck  at  the  empty 
air  as  though  its  emptiness  mocked  him.  "It  is  all,  all 
lost!"  he  cried  in  a  tone  of  agony.  "All  lost,  dear 
God,  and  I  have  worked  so  hard ! ' '  Then  he  came 
and  sat  down  again  by  the  hearth,  with  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

His  wife  was  sitting  on  one  side,  Dorothy  on  the  other, 
sitting  upon  a  foot-stool  and  leaning  against  his  knee; 
and  "Father,"  said  Dorothy,  "we  are  here  in  the  dark- 
ness with  thee,  mother  and  I.  We  do  not  mind  poverty, 
father  dear ;  so  do  not  mind  it  thus  terribly  for  us.  Pov- 
erty is  nothing.  We  shall  take  a  very  little  house,  and 
mother  shall  do  the  weaving,  and  I  shall  do  the  darning 
and  spin;— oh,  how  I  can  spin !— and  I  shall  gather  wild 
hops  for  the  brewing,  and  nuts  and  berries  in  the  wood 
with  the  poor  girls  that  I  know;  and  we  women  shall 
cook,  and  thou  shalt  work  by  the  day,  and  we  shall 
save  stuiver  by  stuiver  until  the  stockings  are  full 
again." 

"And  thou  shalt  win  thy  way,  Gerrit,  despite  this 
great  misfortune, ' '  said  Juffrouw  Van  Sweringen,  stead- 
fast in  the  unswerving  faith  of  her  fathers.  '  *  No  sparrow 
falleth  but  God's  eye  sees  it.  Thou  hast  Dorothy  and 
me ;  and  Dorothy  and  I  have  thee.  Love  asks  but  little, 
Gerrit ;  wilt  not  be  comforted  1 ' ' 

While  she  spoke  there  was  a  sound  in  the  street  of 
voices  and  footsteps,  and  some  one  beat  upon  the  stoop, 


I  The  Ruin  of  Van  Sweringen   335 

then,  stumbling  up  the  steps,  rapped  heavily  on  the  door, 
crying:    "What!      Here!      Donder    and    blitzen!      are 
ye  all  as  dead  as  door-nails,  that  ye  keep  your  house  so 
dark?" 
^  They  all  sat  up  suddenly,  listening.     It  was  a  round, 

full,  merry  voice. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

THE   GOVERNOR   HAS   HIS   JOKE 

BANG,  bang,  bang!  went  the  knocker.  "What,  ho! 
the  house!"  cried  the  jolly  voice.  "Don't  keep  me 
kicking  ray  heels  here  all  night!"  Bang,  bang,  bang! 
went  the  knocker  again. 

Van  Sweringen  arose  and  threw  the  door  wide.  "Who 
is  here  ? "  he  asked,  '  *  and  what  is  wanted  ? ' ' 

"I  want  to  see,"  was  the  response,  "and  I  can't  see  in 
the  dark." 

"Then  go  where  there  is  light,"  said  Van  Sweringen. 
* '  There  is  no  darkness  here  for  me.  When  one  sits  with 
those  who  love  him  he  needs  no  other  light. ' ' 

"True  for  you,"  said  the  cheerful  voice.  "Let  's 
cry,  'Away  with  candles,'  and  sit  with  our  wives  and 
sweethearts  like  owls  in  the  crooks  of  a  ruin!"  So  say- 
ing, the  cheerful  speaker  came  stumbling  into  the  room. 
"Zounds!  man,"  said  he,  "let  's  have  a  light.  There  's 
no  one  here  that  loves  me,  for  I  can't  even  see  my  own 
nose.  I  '11  be  walking  over  some  one  next.  I  beg  for  just 
one  candle!"  There  was  no  mistaking  that  frank,  blithe 
voice :  it  was  the  Governor  of  Maryland. 

Van  Sweringen  lighted  a  candle,  and  motioned  his  in- 
336 


The  Governor  has  his  Joke   237 

opportune  guest  to  a  seat.  He  would  not  forgo  his 
courtesy,  although  his  heart  was  well-nigh  broken. 

"Why,  man,"  cried  Master  Calvert,  in  a  gale  of  hu- 
mor, '  *  what  possesses  ye  ?  You  're  as  glum  as  a  cellar  of 
sour  beer.  Why,  faith,  Bermuda  blue  would  be  scarlet 
beside  ye;  you  're  as  melancholy  as  a  Lincolnshire  bag- 
piper ! '  * 

"I  pray  ye  will  excuse  me  a  little,"  said  Van  Swer- 
ingen.    *  *  I  am  ruined. ' ' 

"It  is  true,  then?"  rejoined  the  Governor.  "I  had 
heard  as  much;  but  men  lie  so,  one  cannot  tell  what  to 
believe.  Ruined?  Well,  upon  my  word,  man,  that  's  a 
merry  jest ! ' ' 

"A  jest?"  said  V^n  Sweringen.  "Bethink  ye;  I  am 
a  ruined  man.    This  is  no  time  to  speak  of  jests." 

But  the  Governor  of  Maryland  sat  with  his  hands  on 
his  knees,  chuckling  audibly  to  himself,  as  if  he  had 
penned  up  a  joke  in  a  hole,  and,  like  a  lad  with  a  wood- 
chuck,  was  minded  to  poke  it  a  bit. 

"No  heart  for  jesting,  eh?"  said  he.  "Well,  I 
would  n't  if  I  was  you." 

"Master  Calvert,"  retorted  Van  Sweringen,  sharply, 
"be  careful!  I  am  not  in  a  humorous  mood  this  night." 

Master  Calvert  looked  at  him,  smiling.  "Well,  I  should 
not  be,  neither.  Broken:  not  a  stuiver  left?  Upon  my 
word ! ' '  and  rubbing  his  chin,  he  winked  his  merry  eye 
and  grinned  quizzically  at  Van  Sweringen. 

"Be  careful!"  said  Van  Sweringen.  "This  passeth 
the  limits  of  reason." 

22 


23^  Barnaby  Lee 

"No  doubt,"  replied  the  Governor.  "Ye  have  had 
reasons  enough  and  to  spare.  Sure,  I  think  ye  might 
welcome  a  little  folly. ' ' 

"But  beware,  sir;  this  exeeedeth  folly;  this  goeth  be- 
yond a  jest." 

"Indeed  it  does,"  smiled  Master  Calvert;  "it  smacks 
of  the  very  earnest  I  little  thought,  last  time  we  met, 
that  I  should  ever  have  thee  on  the  hip  like  this ! ' ' 

Van  Sweringen  arose  and  strode  across  the  floor,  a  wild 
look  on  his  face.  "Master  Calvert,"  he  said,  in  a  trem- 
bling voice,  * '  dost  think  this  a  gentleman 's  doing,  to  hunt 
a  ruined  man  home  to  his  wife,  and  to  mock  him  with  his 
misfortunes?  Sir,  it  is  ill  considered.  Why  shouldst 
thou  force  a  quarrel?  Have  there  not  been  quarrels 
enough  without  thy  seeking  one  with  ifte?"  His  lips 
quivered,  and  his  strong  hands  shook  with  the  passion 
that  was  coming  upon  him. 

But  Charles  Calvert  looked  gravely  up  at  his  quiver- 
ing face.  "Tut,  mynheer!  let  me  have  out  my  jest!" 
he  said.  "Sure,  ye  had  the  joke  on  me  the  last  time  we 
were  met  together.  It  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody 
good,  and  the  wind  is  blowing  my  way  now.  Go,  sit  ye 
down  and  hold  your  peace,  and  let  me  have  my  joke  out. 
It  will  cost  ye  less  than  yours  cost  me:  I  shall  carry 
your  jest  in  my  side  to  the  grave." 

Then,  all  at  once,  as  he  looked  up,  his  eyes  filled  with 
tears.  ' '  Dear  God ! ' '  said  he,  "  do  I  look  like  a  man  who 
is  seeking  a  quarrel?  or  as  one  who  hath  come  to  crow 
and  to  triumph  over  ye?    Don't  make  me  weep  for  the 


The  Governor  has  his  Joke  339 

trouble  you  're  in ;  my  heart  has  been  aching  for  you  all 
enough  already!  There,  now,  I  must  be  mopping  like  a 
school-boy!"  He  dashed  the  tears  from  his  eyes  with 
his  hand,  and  when  he  looked  up  again  his  smile  would 
have  melted  a  heart  of  adamant.  "God  keep  us!"  said 
he,  with  a  trembling  voice.  "Do  ye  think  me  one  to 
throw  away  friends  for  the  quirk  of  a  silly  humor? 
They  tell  me  ye  rode  into  this  town  to-night  with  a  face 
as  gray  as  a  dead  man's.  Do  ye  know  what  I  've  been 
doing  since?  Weeping.  D'  ye  see  my  two  eyes?  All 
onions  could  not  put  them  nearer  shut.  But  there  's  a 
tune  been  coming  through  my  heart  that  my  lips  can't 
keep  still ! ' '  and,  with  a  little  quavering  laugh,  he  pursed 
up  his  lips  and  began  to  whistle  "Over  the  Hills  and 
Far  Away!" 

"There,"  quoth  he,  as  he  finished  it.  "  'T  'as  been 
running  through  my  head  all  evening;  and  sure,  I  have 
set  new  words  to  it.  The  verse  don't  rhyme,  and  the 
meter  is  bad,  and  ye  shall  have  to  trim  it  yourself  to  the 
tune ;  but  the  running  of  it  is  this,  and,  man,  I  mean  ex- 
actly what  I  say:  pack  up  what  little  we  have  left  ye, 
and  come  to  Maryland.  I  have  a  sheriff's  office  there  that 
cries  for  ye  to  come  and  fill  it.  There  's  pretty  posies 
hanging  their  heads  in  rows  for  the  lass  to  come  and  pick 
them.  Carr  is  a  dirty  scoundrel ;  I  have  just  told  him  so 
to  his  thieving  face.  Let  me  make  good  the  wrongs  he  has 
done.  Then  ye  shall  need  no  more  to  curse  the  English 
for  a  pack  of  thieves  and  perjurers.  Come  down  to 
Maryland,  Van  Swerrington,  you  and  all  that  be  yours  I 


340  Barnaby  Lee 

Man,  't  will  be  a  happy  day.  All  the  lads  will  be  glad  to 
see  ye ;  I  vow  they  have  every  one  loved  ye  since  the  time 
they  laid  eyes  on  ye.  Mistress  Van  Swerrington, "  he 
said,  with  a  laugh  and  a  half  a  choke,  "prevail  with  me 
against  this  dear,  honest  fool  of  thine!  He  is  the  obsti- 
natest  argumentator  that  ever  I  stood  out  against." 

Van  Sweringen  went  to  the  fireside  and  sat  down  in 
his  chair.  His  shoulders  were  shaking,  and  the  candle- 
light sparkled  in  the  great  hot  tears  that  crept  down 
through  his  fingers.  And  as  he  wept  he  turned  his  back 
to  them,  that  they  might  not  see  him  weeping  like  a  boy. 
But  Calvert,  springing  to  his  feet,  went  to  Juffrouw 
Van  Sweringen 's  side,  and,  bending  with  much  grace, 
reverently  kissed  her  fingers.  Then  he  kissed  Dorothy 
in  the  middle  of  the  soft  hair  above  her  forehead. 
"When  I  write  my  Aunt  Doll  that  her  pretty  namesake 
is  reduced  to  a  shift, ' '  quoth  he,  and  now  he  had  begun  to 
laugh  merrily  again,  "sure,  the  old  soul  will  send  out 
half  Cheapside  to  clothe  her:  silks  and  satins,  velvets, 
laces,  cotton  prints  and  ramsaloosalems.  By  the  bones 
of  the  Red  O'Donnell,  she  shall  bloom  like  the  roses  of 
Sharon !  But,  madam,  I  must  apologize :  I  ruined  a  shirt 
for  your  good  man.  I  put  my  tuck  through  it  to  the  tune 
of  *  All  Ragged  and  Torn, '  I  promise  ye ;  and  had  his  back 
not  been  as  limber  as  a  gallon  of  lampreys,  he  would  have 
brought  you  home  some  sad  buttonholes.  But,  marry! 
't  was  I  had  the  buttonholes ;  and  a  most  discomforting 
stitching  it  was. ' '  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  rue- 
ful grin.    *  *  Sure,  I  thought  I  might  fence  with  Crichton 


The  Governor  has  his  Joke   341 

himself ;  but  your  man,  there,  was  too  much  for  me.  He 
did  a  new  trick  for  me — ace,  deuce,  trey!  and  that  's  why 
I  love  him.  Why,  we  '11  all  be  as  happy  as  bees  in  a  hive ! 
You  will  come,  will  ye  not?  Nay,  now,  ye  cannot  have 
the  heart  to  refuse ! ' '  He  looked  over  the  candle  out  into 
the  room  with  a  genial,  boy-like  smile;  then,  quickly 
dropping  his  bantering  manner,  he  spoke  in  a  business- 
like voice,  ' '  You  can  take  up  a  thousand  acres,  at  twenty 
shilling  the  year.  Ye  may  believe  as  ye  please  and  say 
what  ye  wUl,  so  ye  be  Christian  and  speak  no  treasons; 
and  if  ye  will  teach  us  to  keep  our  own  laws  as  you  have 
kept  those  of  the  Dutch,  you  will  confer  a  precious  favor 
on  the  next  Lord  Baltimore. ' '  As  his  long  speech  ended, 
he  silently  bowed,  and  stood  there  quietly. 

Mynheer  Van  Sweringen  got  up  from  his  seat,  and 
turning,  said  simply:  "My  friend,  my  good  and  my  in- 
deed true  friend,  I  thank  you  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart.  You  have  put  a  new  light  in  the  world  for  me. ' ' 
His  face  was  composed,  but  his  voice  was  yet  shaking. 
"I  will  pack  whatever  goods  I  have  left  and  come  to 
Maryland.  I  will  take  you  at  your  word."  Then  all  at 
once  he  paused,  with  a  troubled  look  around  the  room. 
"But,  Master  Calvert,"  he  went  on,  still  searching  the 
darkened  corners  with  his  inquiring  eyes,  "there  is  a 
lad  to  whom  I  am  deeply  beholden,  I  and  all  of  us,  for 
my  life.  Him  ye  must  accept  with  the  rest  of  us,  or  we 
shall  come  to  no  bargain." 

"Oh,  father,"  cried  out  poor  Dorothy,  "they  have 
taken  him!" 


342  Barnaby  Lee 

"Taken  him?"  exclaimed  Van  Sweringen.  "Who 
hath  taken  our  boy?" 

"The  law  hath  taken  him,  father,  to  be  tried  by  the 
Governor.  ' '  A  ship 's  captain,  oh,  such  a  terrible  villain, 
hath  claimed  him  for  his  apprentice ! ' ' 

Van  Sweringen  turned  with  conscience-stricken  face. 
"Forgive  me  my  trespasses  as  I  have  not  forgiven  those 
who  have  trespassed  in  the  least  against  me !  They  had 
never  known  the  lad  was  here  had  I  not  cruelly  used  him 
to  save  a  cause  which  was  already  lost ! "  So  saying,  he 
would  have  gone  on  condemning  himself;  but  Master 
Calvert  held  up  his  hand,  and,  "Stay  now;  not  so  fast 
with  self-reproaches,"  said  he.  "Perhaps  we  may  avoid 
them.  This  boy?  Is  his  name  Master  Barnaby  Lee? 
Is  it  he  who  was  with  you  in  Maryland  ? ' ' 

"Ay,"  said  Van  Sweringen.  "Where  is  he?  What 
dost  thou  know  of  him?" 

"Oh,  none  so  much,"  laughed  the  Governor.  "Still, 
it  may  prove  sufficient.  I  think  ye  need  worry  no  more 
for  him:  he  is  pretty  well  able  to  take  care  of  himself, 
and,  I  trow,  of  some  others  also.  I  have  just  left  him 
hobnobbing  with  Master  Simeon  Drew  his  lawyer,  in  a 
quiet  room  at  the  tavern,  with  a  green  bag  full  of  red- 
sealed  warrants.  The  lad  has  fallen  heir  to  a  fine  estate 
of  six  thousand  pound  sterling  the  year,  and  sails  with 
me  for  Maryland,  upon  my  yacht,  the  Golden  Bohin,  as 
soon  as  we  may  be  out  of  port,  to  enter  upon  his 
heritage." 


CHAPTER  XLII 

WHAT   HAD   HAPPENED   IN    MARYLAND 

TO  pry  into  the  innermost  recesses  of  another  man's 
mind  is  like  opening  a  neighbor's  cupboard  and 
peering  into  it:  a  thing  unpleasant  and  unprofitable 
unless  one  be  a  thief.  Yet  sometimes  the  cupboard  door 
swings  wide,  and  stands  so,  open,  showing,  whether  one 
has  stared  or  not,  all  the  covert  odds  and  ends  upon  the 
cupboard  shelves. 

July  had  blazed  itself  away  in  a  last  week  of  white  and 
bitter  heat ;  August  had  come  with  promises  of  more  ex- 
hausting drought-  The  meadows  were  withered;  the 
brooks,  dry;  the  roads  lay  deep  in  burning  dust;  the 
days  were  parched  and  choking,  the  nights  fairly  sick- 
ening with  the  heat.  Somewhat  less  evident,  but  plainly 
apparent,  the  Vice- Chancellor  of  Maryland,  Master 
Philip  Calvert,  was  certainly  under  the  weather.  He  was 
exceedingly  ill  at  ease. 

What  troubled  him  nobody  seemed  to  know ;  but  wor- 
ried and  ill  he  assuredly  was. 

"Ecod !  he  hath  stood  too  long  in  the  sun,"  said  Roger 
Askridge.  ''He  hath  taken  a  calenture.  He  should  ha' 
worn  a  dock-leaf  in  his  hat." 

343 


344  Barnaby  Lee 

"He  has  lost  money,"  said  Baker  Brooke.  "It  is  the 
talk  of  the  colony  that  he  has  frittered  away  his  sub- 
stance on  vanity  and  squandered  his  wealth  in  ill-advised 
adventures. ' ' 

But  Simeon  Drew,  old,  shrewd,  and  wise,  said  nothing 
but ' '  Philip  is  growing  old. ' ' 

The  Vice- Chancellor's  face  was  older  and  he  seemed  to 
be  thinner.  His  clothing  hung  upon  him  in  a  loose,  ill- 
fitting  way;  instead  of  his  old,  familiar  air  of  costly 
luxury,  he  had  a  stinting,  meager  look ;  and  where  once 
he  had  been  the  very  pink  of  care,  he  wore  the  look  of 
an  absent-minded  sloven.  His  lace  was  neglected  and 
frayed ;  his  once  handsome  wig  hung  disheveled  upon  his 
collar;  his  fingers  grew  dingy;  his  linen  had  a  dubious 
Isabella  color ;  he  spilled  a  horn  of  ink  upon  his  coat,  yet 
went  on  wearing  it,  day  after  day,  with  a  great  smear 
down  the  skirt,  as  if  he  had  not  seen  it,  or,  seeing,  had 
not  cared. 

When  acquaintances  were  about  him  he  was  unnat- 
urally gay,  as  if  he  had  been  drinking  wine ;  but  as  the 
long,  hot  days  crept  by,  he  lost  heart  for  merriment, 
would  speak  to  few,  then  to  fewer  still,  at  last  to  none  at 
all,  unless  upon  urgent  business  or  some  matter  of  im- 
portance, and,  when  no  one  was  by,  sat  moping  and  de- 
jected at  his  desk.  Thus,  for  hours,  he  would  sit,  en- 
grossed in  thought,  collapsed  like  a  blighted  weed  in  his 
chair,  and  lost  to  all  that  went  on  around  him.  Then, 
suddenly  starting  up,  he  would  lift  his  head  with  a  star- 
tled jerk,  and  shaking  it,  draw  back,  as  though  to  disen- 


Happenings  in  Maryland     345 

gage  his  mind  from  some  intolerable  thought,  as  a  dog 
shakes  off  a  rat  which  has  fastened  upon  its  lip.  And 
where  once  he  had  been  so  proudly  high  and  grandly- 
domineering,  he  was  now  by  turns  as  peevish  and  petu- 
lant as  a  child,  and  as  cringing  and  obsequious  as  a 
barber.  His  eyes  were  blood-shot,  his  face  ill-colored,  his 
body  bent  as  with  age;  the  disorder  of  his  dress  grew 
greater  daily.  And  when  Master  Charles  Calvert,  the 
Governor,  had  recovered  from  his  wound,  and  came 
among  the  offices,  overseeing  this  and  that,  he  watched 
his  cousin,  the  Vice-Chancellor,  covertly,  with  a  curious 
look,  saying  nothing  to  any  one,  but  thinking,  thinking, 
thinking,  and  keeping  his  own  counsel ;  until  one  after- 
noon he  stopped  as  he  passed  the  Vice-Chancellor,  and 
laid  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"Philip,"  said  he.  "You  certainly  are  not  well. 
You  've  been  sticking  too  close  to  business.  I  think 
you  'd  better  rest  awhile ;  go  up  to  Piney  Point ;  hunt  a 
fox  or  have  a  ball ;  it  will  do  ye  a  world  of  good. ' ' 

The  Vice-Chancellor  threw  down  his  pen  upon  his 
desk.  "I  wish  that  you  would  not  pester  me  so!"  he 
said,  in  a  querulous  voice.  "I  am  not  ill,  and  I  don't  need 
rest;  and  I  'm  not  going  up  to  Piney  Point  until  I  'm 
good  and  ready.  All  I  want  is  to  be  let  alone;  and  I 
wish  you  'd  leave  me  alone !  I  don 't  see  why  you  should 
be  always  a-coming  and  a-asking  after  me:  I  'm  sure 
I  did  not  always  come  a-asking  after  you," 

The  Governor  looked  at  him.  "No,"  said  he.  "Ye  did 
not :  not  since  the  day  ye  came  to  inquire  how  bad  I  was 


34^  Barnaby  Lee 

hurt,  before  they  had  brought  me  home,  while  as  yet  no- 
body knew  nothing  at  all,  not  even  that  I  was  gone  out." 

The  Vice-Chancellor's  long,  thin  hands  lay  stretched 
upon  his  desk.  He  did  not  move  them,  nor  make  the 
slightest  motion.    The  room  was  very  still. 

The  Governor  looked  at  him,  and  his  brave,  generous 
face  was  very  grave.  * '  That  was  a  strange  thing,  Philip, ' ' 
he  went  on,  ' '  a  very  strange  thing  indeed.  Ye  must  have 
felt  it  in  your  bones."  The  Vice-Chancellor's  impassive 
face  was  the  color  of  lead.    He  made  no  reply. 

"Now  I  think  you  are  ill,"  said  the  Governor.  "At 
least  I  should  rather  think  ye  ill  than,  with  good  grounds, 
to  think  some  other  things  which  a  man  might  think  who 
is  given  to  taking  notice." 

Then  "Eigh!  Cousin  Philip,  be  careful!"  said  he,  as 
if  by  some  sudden  impulse  saying  more  than  he  had  in- 
tended. * '  Be  careful ;  remember  our  honor,  if  ye  have 
no  care  for  yourself.  There  be  queer  stories  afloat  of  late 
into  which  they  have  somehow  inveigled  your  name  at 
the  cost  of  your  reputation;  and  ugly  rumors  be  going 
about :  I  have  given  them  all  the  lie.  Look  to  it,  cousin ; 
bear  your  course  as  delicate  as  I  do.  There  's  naught  an 
honest  man  can  gain  by  dabbling  in  dishonor,  naught 
save  cankering  private  shame  or  public  ignominy.  Look 
to  it,  Philip ;  look  to  it,  for  the  sake  of  the  family  if  not 
for  your  own,  man,"  and  turning  with  a  grave  face,  the 
Governor  left  the  office. 

Two  days  later  Master  Philip  Calvert  went  up  to  Piney 
Point. 


Happenings  in  Maryland    347 

**Wliat  's  o'clock?"  he  asked,  when  the  footman  let 
him  in  at  the  door,  and  stood  staring  at  him,  wide-eyed. 
It  was  verging  upon  midnight.  He  had  come  all  the  way 
by  a  foot-path  meandering  through  the  forest.  When 
the  footman  told  him  the  hour,  he  did  not  seem  to  hear. 
"Johnson,"  he  said,  "I  am  tired;  get  me  something  to 
eat.  Get  me  something  to  drink,  too,  something  strong. 
And,  Johnson,  have  the  bed  made  up  in  the  bedroom 
facing  the  hills;  I  think  it  may  be  cooler  there.  And, 
Johnson,  if  I  should  be  a-sleeping  when  ye  bring  the 
breakfast  in,  don't  ye  wake  me;  leave  me  sleep,  for  I 
would  rather  sleep.  Don't  wake  me  if  I  sleep  all  day; 
keep  the  people  quiet ;  don 't  be  calling  through  the  house, 
nor  sweeping  through  the  hallways,  and  don't  go 
a-clumping  up  and  down  stairs  like  a  paddockful  of 
horses.  I  have  not  been  a-sleeping  well ;  these  hot  nights 
give  me  the  quavers;  I  ha'  lost  a  deal  of  sleep ;  so,  mind 
ye,  don't  ye  wake  me,  nor  leave  me  be  awakened,  or  I  will 
send  ye  packing.  Don't  ye  call  me  at  all ;  I  'm  weary; 
I  'd  like  to  sleep  ten  thousand  years ! ' ' 

But  when  he  had  got  into  bed  he  could  not  sleep.  He 
arose,  and  walked  the  room  all  night.  When  the  first  gray 
light  of  morning  crept  along  the  east,  and  across  the  hills 
he  could  see  the  white  mist  drifting  up  out  of  the  valleys, 
he  threw  himself  down  across  the  bed,  and  slept  there 
heavily  all  day  long,  now  and  then  turning  from  side  to 
side,  and  at  last  awaking  in  a  stupid  state,  more  weary 
than  when  he  lay  down. 

He  came  down-stairs,  unshaven,  unkempt,  and  dishei^ 


34^  Barnaby  Lee 

eled,  in  his  draggled  clothing  and  the  crumpled  linen 
in  which  he  had  slept.  ' '  Don 't  fetch  me  coffee ;  I  don 't 
want  coffee:  I  did  not  tell  you  to  make  me  coffee;  who 
told  ye  to  make  coffee  ? "  he  said  complainingly.  ' '  Here ; 
take  it  away,  and  don't  be  standing  there,  staring,  as  if 
ye  were  a  stump  !  I  want  rum  and  sugar ;  d'  ye  hear  me ? 
Fetch  me  the  rum,  I  say.  What  's  o'clock ?  Nay ;  I  don't 
want  to  know;  don't  ye  tell  me;  I  don't  care  what  's 
o'clock";  and  he  rubbed  his  blue,  unshaven  chin  with 
his  trembling  hand. 

Next  morning  he  wanted  his  horse  brought  up ;  but 
when  it  was  brought  he  had  changed  his  mind,  and  would 
not  go  out  riding.  He  whined  or  complained  like  a  petu- 
lant child  of  all  that  was  undone  or  done.  He  would 
walk ;  and  then  he  would  n  't ;  he  would  rest ;  but,  no,  he 
oould  n't;  nothing  was  right;  everything  wrong.  He 
chid  his  valet  for  following  him  when  he  strayed  about 
the  place;  abused  him  like  a  iish-wife  when  he  did  not 
find  him  constantly  at  his  heels.  "Out  upon  it!"  said 
he,  "and  murrain  on  it  all!  there  's  nothing  goes  right 
any  more ! ' '  Then,  one  day,  he  caught  himself  talking 
aloud  to  nobody.  Thenceforward  he  would  walk  alone 
in  the  meadows  no  more.  The  meadows  were  hot,  and 
the  woods  as  still  as  death.  "I  can't  abide  a  wood  that 
is  silent  as  the  tomb ! ' '  said  he.  So  he  hung  about  the 
house  all  day  until  he  lost  his  appetite,  and  sat  at  the 
table  musing  gloomily,  and  rattling  his  plate  about. 
* '  Bah ! "  he  said.  * '  This  is  a  ghastlj'-  hole ! ' '  and  overturn- 
ing his  emptied  wine-glass,  he  pushed  the  untouched 
dinner  away,  and  strode  moodily  out  of  the  room. 


Happenings  in  Maryland     349 

He  grew  more  tired  and  worn  each  day.  His  eyes 
began  to  sink  into  their  sockets,  and  the  skin  beneath 
them  to  hang  in  little  puffy  bags.  He  would  let  his  man 
do  for  him  no  longer ;  and,  turning  his  mirror  against  the 
wall,  looked  into  it  no  more ;  so  that  the  powder  and  rouge 
upon  his  face  were  unevenly  laid.  Then  he  left  off  using 
rouge  at  all,  and  his  cheeks  grew  sickly  pale  and  sallow. 

He  could  find  no  rest  from  his  increasing  restlessness, 
nor  release  from  his  wakefulness.  When  he  would  have 
slept,  he  dreamed,  and  when  he  dreamed,  he  awoke,  for 
he  always  dreamed  of  an  opening  pit  into  which  his  feet 
went  helplessly  sliding.  And  so  the  days  crept  wearily 
by,  dawn,  noon,  and  sunset,  and  after  sunset,  night. 

Then  at  last  came  a  burning  afternoon,  when  the  whole 
earth  panted  for  breath.  There  was  not  a  cloud  in  the 
sky  to  break  the  sun's  intolerable  glare.  The  wind,  what 
little  there  was  left,  was  hot  as  the  breath  of  a  furnace. 
Even  that  failed  before  evening  came.  The  air  grew 
stifling. 

The  servants  went  about  bare-legged  and  with  bare 
feet ;  the  earth  was  like  hot  ashes.  Master  Philip  Calvert 
sat  before  the  house  porch,  beneath  the  towering  elm- 
trees,  which  seemed  to  bring  a  light  wind  down  through 
the  deadly  sultriness,  and  in  some  measure  to  relieve  the 
intolerable  heat. 

The  sun  went  down  as  suddenly  as  if  it  had  been 
jerked  away ;  it  was  pale  as  a  silver  groat,  or  the  half  of 
a  broken  apple.  The  moon  came  up  as  the  sun  went 
down,  like  a  golden  shell,  rising  with  no  perceptible 
motion. 


2S^  Barnaby  Lee 

The  earth  grew  hushed.  The  barnyard  creatures  were 
unusually  still.  A  fox's  bark  rang  through  the  hills, 
reverberating  strangely.  Even  the  paroquets  ceased 
screaming,  and  slipped  among  the  tree-tops  with  a  faint, 
quick  sound  of  wings.  **  There  be-eth  a  storm  a-coming, 
sir,"  said  the  footman,  nervously.  ''Shall  I  go  light  a 
candle  in  the  house?" 

''Yes,  I  would  if  I  was  you,"  said  Philip  Calvert. 
Then  he  suddenly  added,  "And,  hark  ye,  Johnson,  light 
them  all.    D '  ye  hear  me  ?    Light  them  all. ' ' 

The  man  stopped.  "Shall  I  light  the  candles  in  the 
sconces,  sir?"  he  asked. 

The  Vice- Chancellor  laid  down  his  pipe.  "No,"  said 
he,  slowly,  ' '  I  don 't  think  we  '11  light  the  sconces. ' '  Yet 
before  the  man  had  reached  the  house,  he  turned  upon 
his  chair  and  called  after  him,  ' '  Ho,  Johnson !  I  say,  you 
may  light  the  sconces.  A  plague  take  it!"  he  added, 
with  a  quiver  in  his  voice,  as  he  looked  about  him  under 
the  trees.  "I  don't  know  what  has  come  over  me— I 
don't!"  and  he  took  a  sip  of  the  sugared  rum  that  stood 
in  a  glass  beside  him. 

He  had  been  drinking  heavily  that  day,  both  wine  and 
rum.  His  eyes  were  weak  and  watery,  and  the  rims  of 
them  were  red.  His  under  lip  was  loose  and  pendulous, 
and  trembled  constantly  as  he  spoke. 

He  took  up  a  spindle-shaped  brown  carotte  and  rubbed 
himself  some  snuff.  It  was  highly  spiced  and  very  keen, 
and  the  fine  dust  from  the  rasp  made  him  sneeze.  The 
rasp  flew  out  of  his  hand  into  the  grass  and  he  could  not 


Happenings  in  Maryland     351 

find  it  again.  He  kicked  impatiently  here  and  there: 
*'0h,  henker  take  it  all!"  He  had  spilled  snuff  all  over 
bis  coat,  and  his  breast  was  drabbled  with  wine.  He  had 
grown  more  negligent  and  unkempt  with  every  day  that 
had  passed.  Men  sometimes  do  heroic  things  that  they 
may  just  seem  brave  to  themselves ;  but  when  a  man  has 
fallen  to  such  an  estate  that  he  has  not  pride  enough  to 
keep  up  a  decent  appearance,  he  has  come  to  a  low  ebb. 

The  footman  hurried  to  the  house,  and,  having  lighted 
a  candle,  went  rapidly  from  room  to  room.  As  he  went, 
the  little  lights  came  glimmering  out  after  him,  like  yel- 
low fireflies,  pale  and  wan,  for  it  still  was  dimly  light 
outside  with  the  afterglow  and  the  light  of  the  moon. 
Having  finished  lighting  the  rest  of  the  house,  he  has- 
tened to  his  own  room,  and  lighted  the  guttering  candle- 
ends  that  stood  in  the  little  sconce.  Then  he  hurried 
down  the  back  stairs  to  where  the  maids  were  sitting; 
for  he  felt  the  need  of  company :  the  night  had  begun  to 
have  a  strange  look ;  the  light  reflected  from  the  sky  was 
copper-colored  and  odd,  and  there  were  unusual  noises 
through  the  house  as  if  the  floor-beams  were  stretching 
themselves;  moreover,  the  stair  creaked  under  him 
loudly ;  and  the  footman  had  not  been  to  mass  for  four- 
teen months,  and  had  an  uncomfortable  sense  at  the  pit 
of  his  heart  that  he  was  not  all  that  he  should  be. 

So  the  footman  sat  with  the  serving-maids,  and  the 
horse-boy  sat  with  the  hostler;  but  there  was  no  one  to 
sit  beneath  the  elms  with  Master  Philip  Calvert. 

For  a  while  he  sat  beneath  the  trees,  smoking  uneasily, 


352  Barnaby  Lee 

and  watching  the  stars ;  but  everything  was  so  still  that 
he  could  not  stand  it.  He  arose  and  came  quickly  up  to 
the  house,  and,  entering,  went  swiftly  from  room  to 
room,  peering  furtively  into  each,  and  then  back  to  the 
hall  to  look  out. 

For  all  that  the  moon  was  up,  it  was  now  exceedingly 
dark.  A  few  stars  were  visible  in  the  east,  low  down 
under  the  tree-boughs.  A  fitful  glimmer  came  and  went 
along  the  hills,  of  summer  lightning  dancing  in  the  south. 
The  wind  had  set  in  from  the  west,  inconstant  and  fever- 
ish ;  there  was  no  coolness  from  the  sea ;  the  trees  seemed 
to  be  withering.  The  hot  odor  of  the  forest  was  distinctly 
perceptible ;  one  could  hear  a  myriad  frogs.  Just  as  the 
Vice- Chancellor  turned  from  the  door,  he  heard  a  hollow 
moaning  among  the  hills,  far  off  and  faint,  a  mournful, 
melancholy  sound.  ' '  There  surely  is  a  storm  a-coming ! ' ' 
he  said,  and  stepped  out  on  the  porch.  As  he  looked  to 
the  west  he  could  see  the  shimmer  of  distant  lightning. 
There  was  no  thunder  as  yet;  a  hush  lay  on  the  remote 
uplands,  and  a  silence  upon  the  valley.  The  stillness 
took  possession  of  him.  "Egad!"  he  said,  and  gasped 
for  breath  as  if  he  were  stifling,  "why  is  it  so  still? 
Here,"  he  said,  coming  to  the  door  where  the  servants 
were  sitting  together,  the  footman  holding  the  house- 
maid's hand,  and  the  cook's  maid  holding  the  footman's. 
"Why  don't  somebody  make  a  sound?  Why  don't  ye 
talk?" 

"Zowks,  master!"  said  the  housemaid.  "We'm  no- 
thing at  all  to  say ! ' ' 


Happenings  in  Maryland     353 

**Well,  for  pity's  sake,  say  it,  then,"  said  he.  "Don't 
sit  there  like  bumps  on  a  log." 

So  they  made  up  a  sound  among  them  desultorily  for 
an  instant;  but  it  had  no  aim  nor  purpose,  and,  as  soon 
as  he  was  gone,  died  away.  He  looked  back  once  or  twice 
as  if  he  would  rather  have  lingered  there  for  the  sake  of 
company;  but  the  remnant  of  his  lineage  and  his  pride 
took  hold  of  him;  his  uneasiness  drove  him  on  through 
the  house  like  a  moth,  from  candle  to  candle,  listening 
to  the  moan  of  the  wind  among  the  hills,  far  off.  There 
was  now  not  a  breath  of  air  stirring  among  the  trees 
outside. 

The  hall  seemed  unusually  dark  and  wide  as  he  went 
to  the  foot  of  the  stair.  As  he  came  to  the  landing  where 
the  stair  turned  to  the  right  he  suddenly  paused,  and  for 
a  moment  listened :  there  was  a  sound  as  if  some  one  were 
rolling  a  heavy  table  to  and  fro  in  one  of  the  rooms  below. 
Then,  boom,  boom,  boom,  the  sound  resolved  itself  into  a 
sullen,  hollow  rumble,  beyond  the  walls.  **  There  it 
comes!"  he  said.  Going  on  quickly  into  his  room,  he 
lighted  every  candle  there. 

The  air  was  close;  the  midges  danced  around  the 
candle-flames.  He  opened  the  window-lattice  and  looked 
out. 

A  mist  had  gathered  in  the  east  like  a  heavy  red  drift 
of  smoke,  shutting  the  moon  away.  The  storm  was  be- 
ginning to  lift  its  front  slowly  over  the  western  pines. 
"Gad,  look  at  the  clouds!"  he  said. 

Along  the  low  hills  the  clouds  came  slowly  rolling  and 

2» 


3  54  Barnaby  Lee 

heaving  up  like  a  billowing  mountam-range,  deliberate, 
ponderous,  toppling  dimly,  and  heavy  with  the  gathered 
storm.  As  he  watched  them  slowly  heave  across  the 
green,  uncanny  sky,  the  lightning  playing  vividly  among 
them,  now  here,  now  there,  lighting  them  up  like  lamps 
that  go  by  the  windows  of  some  great,  dark,  gloomy 
mansion  in  the  night,  suddenly,  far  off,  he  heard  again 
the  rumble  of  thunder.  Then  all  the  world  was  suddenly 
still.  "It  's  coming, ' '  he  said  uneasily.  "It  's  coming. ' ' 
Then  he  lifted  his  head. 

There  was  no  bell  in  the  colony  which  might  toll  so 
deeply  and  heavily,  rolling  over  the  hills  like  the  boom 
of  a  distant  cannon ;  yet  as  surely  as  he  listened  he  heard 
the  distant  clang  of  a  heavy  bell.  He  listened  with  star- 
tled face.  The  sound  quivered  and  vibrated  all  about 
him  in  the  air.  "Why,"  he  said,  and  put  his  hand  up 
to  his  face,  "it  is  as  if  I  heard  Bow  Bells !  That  is  very 
singular:  to  hear  a  bell  where  there  is  no  bell."  His 
under  lip  was  trembling  as  if  he  had  the  ague.  He  was 
ill  with  the  heat  and  the  rum  he  had  drunk,  and  the  close, 
hot  air  oppressed  him.  The  strange,  sweet  smell  of  the 
trees  in  the  wood  crept  in  through  the  open  window ;  the 
room  was  filled  with  it ;  it  seemed  full  of  green  leaves  and 
shadows;  the  trees  stood  dark  and  motionless.  The 
lights  waved  softly  to  and  fro;  his  clothing  rustled  as 
he  turned.  What  time  it  was  he  did  not  know;  no  one 
seemed  stirring  anyivhere  but  himself ;  yet  he  did  not  go 
to  bed.  "I  should  not  sleep  if  I  did,"  he  said,  twisting 
his  long,  white  fingers  together  nervously.    He  was  grow- 


Happenings  in  Maryland     355 

ing  very  uneasy,  nervous  and  excited.  Since  the  bell  had 
ceased  ringing  the  silence  was  insupportable.  He  walked 
the  room  with  erratic  steps — it  was  very  lonely.  He  lis- 
tened—it was  very  still.  The  lightning  had  become  more 
vivid ;  the  hush  between  the  distant,  reverberating  peals 
of  thunder  grew  constantly  more  intense.  All  at  once 
the  curtains  at  the  window  rose  and  waved;  he  felt  a 
quick,  cold  puff  of  the  rising  wind. 

He  ran  to  the  casement  to  secure  the  lattice.  The  trees 
were  tossing  wildly.  The  elms  waved  their  black  branches 
like  arms  across  the  sl<y.  The  leaves  on  the  ash  seemed 
all  turned  white.  As  he  drew  in  the  lattice,  a  chill  drop 
of  rain  struck  and  spattered  upon  his  cheek — and  just 
for  a  moment,  as  through  the  opening  of  a  door  comes  a 
burst  of  music  and  laughter,  and  then  is  shut  away, 
he  heard  through  the  stillness  the  beat  of  a  horse's 
hoofs,  cut-a-thump,  cut-a-thump,  cut-a-thump,  coming 
on  through  the  darkness ;  and  then  the  sound  was  gone. 
Down  rushed  the  wind  through  the  tree-tops.  The  grass 
at  the  roadside  bowed  and  sprung  again  before  it.  The 
house  shook.  The  elm  beat  against  the  gable.  For  an 
instant  nothing  could  be  heard  but  the  furious  tumult  of 
the  gale.  Far  off  he  heard  a  great  tree  fall  somewhere 
■within  the  forest,  a  riving,  splintering,  startling  sound. 
Then  nearer,  louder,  sharper-beating  than  before,  he 
heard  the  drum  of  a  horse's  hoofs,  seeming  to  race  with 
the  breaking  storm. 

Down  came  the  great,  tremendous  rain,  in  roaring 
sheets  and  torrents ;  over  the  shivering  meadow-lands  the 


35^  Barnaby  Lee 

pouring  showers  ran;  across  the  pine-trees  that  topped 
the  hills  they  trailed  and  swept  like  a  woman's  fallen 
hair.  Philip  Calvert  closed  his  eyes  to  the  blaze  of  the 
now  incessant  lightning,  and  crossed  himself  and  mut- 
tered a  prayer  at  the  thunderous  jar  which  followed  each 
flash,  reverberating  through  the  hills  and  shaking  the 
ground  beneath  the  house. 

Through  the  roar  and  rush  and  the  sweep  of  the  wind 
he  could  hear  the  dull  beat  of  that  great,  racing  stride, 
coming  on  through  the  darkness  and  storm :  cut-a-thump, 
cut-a- thump,  cut-a-thump,  cut-a-thump.  It  seemed  to  be 
coming  nearer  and  nearer.  "That  's  not  on  the  road," 
said  he.  "That  's  in  the  woods.  Sure,  Tom  of  Bedlam 
would  not  ride  through  the  woods  on  a  night  as  dark  as 
this!  Why,  now,  I  believe  it  is  a-coming  here!"  He 
shrank  back  instinctively.  "Now,  who  can  be  a-coming 
here  ? "  he  faltered.  *  *  Who  can  be  coming  here  of  a  night 
like  this?" 

He  crossed  himself,  for,  as  he  spoke,  there  came  a  blind- 
ing flash  of  light,  as  if  the  sky  were  split,  and  after  it 
another.  Then  followed  a  peal  of  thunder  which  made 
the  very  foundations  shake;  with  a  sudden-rising  whiff 
of  the  wind  out  went  the  lights,  and  left  him  in  utter 
darkness. 

He  ran  to  the  door  and  opened  it.  The  hall  was  dark 
as  pitch.  He  followed  the  wainscot  to  the  head  of  the 
stair.  "Dick,"  he  cried  in  his  shrill,  high  voice,  "Dick 
Johnson ;  what !  here !  fetch  me  a  light !  Quick,  I  say, 
Johnson ;  fetch  me  a  light ! ' ' 


Happenings  in  Maryland    357 

There  came  a  knocking  at  the  door  below.  "What! 
Here ! "  an  imperious  voice  cried.  '  *  What !  Here !  the 
house ! "  A  heavy  knock  made  the  door-bolts  creak,  and 
the  door-chains  clinked  and  rattled. 

Clasping  his  hands  upon  his  breast,  Philip  Calvert 
leaned  against  the  wainscot.  He  heard  the  muffled  thump 
of  feet  as  the  footman  sprang  out  of  bed,  and  a  swift 
snipping  of  flint  and  steel;  a  wavering  thread  of  light 
came  swiftly  down  the  hallway.  On  the  heels  of  a  par- 
ley came  a  rattle  of  chains.  He  crept  to  the  landing 
and  peered  down  across  the  balustrade  just  as  Johnson 
shot  back  the  last  bolt,  and  threw  the  door  wide  open. 


CHAPTER   XLIII 

THE   GOVERNOR   SEES,    AT   LAST 

THE  Governor  sat  at  the  small  writing-desk  in  his 
private  office,  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  his  chair. 
His  brow  was  knitted  in  unavailing  thought.  The  fingers 
of  his  idle  hand  drummed  on  the  desk  awhile,  were  still, 
then  drummed  again.  The  red  smi  shone  through  the 
lattice.  "Pricer,"  he  said  suddenly,  still  leaning  upon 
his  chair-arm  and  studying  the  sunlight  on  the  wall, 
''what  was  the  name  of  the  vessel  we  held  on  charge 
of  piracy  the  first  year  of  the  King's  reign?  I  can't 
remember. ' ' 

The  private  secretary  studied  the  floor,  * '  The  Earl  of 
Warwick,  sir." 

Knitting  his  brows,  the  Governor  shook  his  head. 
* '  That  's  not  it, ' '  he  said.  '  *  Sure,  I  thought  I  had  found 
it, ' '  he  said,  with  a  sigh,  and  went  on  with  his  drumming 
and  thinking.  After  a  little,  "Pricer,"  said  he  again, 
"what  of  the  Earl  of  Warwick?" 

"Well,  sir,  she  was  stowed  with  household  goods,"  said 
the  secretary  slowly.  "A  most  unusual  cargo,  sir,  as  I 
remember  it." 

"I  don't  remember  the  household  goods,"  said  the 

358 


The  Governor  Sees,  at  Last   359 

Governor,  thoughtfully.  "Were  they  sold  at  public 
auction  ? ' ' 

''No,  sir;  I  don't  believe  they  were,"  replied  Pricer; 
then  he  rubbed  his  curly  pate.  "Now,  sure,  I  don't  be- 
lieve they  were  ever  sold  at  all.  Why,  now,  on  my  word, 
what  did  become  of  them?  They  were  as  fine  a  lot  of 
household  stuffs  as  ever  I  saw;  carven  chairs  and  tables 
and  chests,  and  very  handsome  carpets,  and  a  bit  of  stat- 
uary, and  some  family  paintings,  and  table-service,  sir, 
as  elegant  as  any  in  the  provinces.  'T  is  singular  I  can- 
not remember  what  was  done  with  those  furnishings ! 
I  '11  look  it  up." 

"It  is  not  worth  while, ' '  said  the  Governor.  '  *  That  's 
not  what  I  was  after. ' ' 

But  Gerald  Pricer  was  the  sort  of  a  man  that,  once 
suggest  to  him  a  question,  was  not  to  be  restrained  from 
that  quest  except  by  direct  command. 

When  Governor  Calvert  came  back  from  his  planta- 
tion, the  secretary  looked  up  from  his  table  beneath  the 
window.  "I  have  been  looking  over  the  inventories  of 
'60,  sir,"  said  he.  "The  household  goods  of  which  we 
spoke  were  laid  away  in  store.  They  were  valued  at  six 
hundred  pound  sterling,  and  were  held  to  await  an 
owner. ' ' 

"Mm-mm?"  said  the  Governor,  musing.  "I  suppose 
they  managed  to  find  him  ? ' ' 

"No,"  said  Pricer,  "they  did  n't." 

"Ah,  they  did  n't?"  the  Governor  echoed  carelessly. 
"And  that  was  the  end  of  it?" 


360  Barnaby  Lee 

**No,  sir,"  said  Pricer.  "It  was  n't  the  end  of  it. 
They  were  garnish eed  for  fees." 

"Garnisheed?  Six  hundred  pound  sterling?  For 
fees?"  said  the  Governor.  "By  gad,  that  's  a  princely 
fee !  Who  had  the  face  to  take  six  hundred  pound  ster- 
ling for  fees?" 

The  private  secretary  took  up  his  pen.  "Master 
Philip,  sir." 

The  Governor  sat  for  a  moment  silent.  He  did  not 
drum.     "Are  ye  right  sure  of  that?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  the  secretary.  "I  made  a  point  to  be 
sure  before  speaking  of  it,  sir.  I  made  memoranda,  lest 
I  should  forget. ' ' 

"Let  's  see  that  memorandum." 

The  secretary  laid  the  slip  upon  his  patron's  desk. 

"  'Six  hundred  pound  sterling,'  "  read  the  Goveiaior, 
"  'certified  value  of  the  goods  that  was  took  from  The 
Earl  of  Warwick.'  'That  was  took  from  The  Earl  of 
Warwick,'  "  he  muttered  musingly.  Then  he  raised  his 
head  with  a  singular  glimmer  in  his  eye. 

"Pricer,"  he  asked  suddenly,  "d'  ye  wot  the  great 
Earl  of  Warwick?" 

"Guy,  sir,  who  slew  the  wild  boar?"  asked  the  secre- 
tary, smiling. 

"No;  not  Guy,  but  he  they  called  the  King-Maker— 
'Warwick,  the  King-Maker.'  Ye  wot  him.  What  was 
his  cognizance?" 

' '  His  coat  of  arms,  sir ;  or  his  badge  ?  His  badge  was 
the  bear  and  the  ragged  staff." 


The  Governor  Sees,  at  Last  361 

The  Governor  started  a  little.  "Are  ye  right  sure  of 
that?"  he  asked. 

"I  can  make  sure,"  said  Prieer.  "I  can  look  it  up  in 
'The  College,'  sir.  Here  it  is:  'Richard  Beauchamp, 
Earl  of  Warwick:  badge,  The  Bear  and  the  Bagged 
Staff.'  " 

The  Governor  sat  very  still.  "It  can't  be  true,"  said 
he. 

"Why,  sir,  here  it  is  in  'The  College,'  "  said  Prieer, 

The  Governor  looked  at  the  little  slip  that  was  lying  on 
his  desk.  There  was  a  world  of  trouble  in  his  kindly 
face.  "It  can't  be  true,"  he  said  slowly.  "No,  no;  it 
can't.  Prieer,"  he  said,  in  a  lower  tone,  "do  ye  recall 
the  name  of  the  owner  of  those  goods  ? " 

"Is  't  not  on  the  memorandum ? ' '  asked  the  secretary. 
"Sure,  I  thought  I  had  put  it  down  upon  the  memoran- 
dum. I  don't  see  how  I  came  to  forget,"  and  he  looked 
a  little  crestfallen,  for  he  was  a  careful  man.  "I  know 
I  meant  to  put  it  down.  I  will  not  forget  such  a  thing 
again.  I  think  that  the  name  was  'Henry';  yet  that 
don't  seem  just  right.  Pshaw!  I  had  it  on  my  tongue; 
and  there,  't  is  gone  again!  Aggravation!  Ah,  I  have 
it ! "  he  said,  laughing  triumphantly.  ' '  I  knew  I  'd  recol- 
lect it.  The  name  was  '  Henry, '  sir ;  't  was  the  christened 
name,  not  the  last  name ;  but  I  knew  't  was  a  part.  They 
had  it  entered  'Harry,'  sir— 'Harry  Lee.'  It  also  stood 
against  six  thousand  acres  of  land,  sir,  on  Piney  Point, 
west  of  the  inlet,  that  were  entered  for  'Captain  Henry 
Lee'  by  Sir  George  Evelyn." 


362  Barnaby  Lee 

The  Governor  turned  in  his  chair.  His  voice  was  sud- 
denly harsh  and  stern.  "Pricer,"  he  said,  "do  ye  ever 
lie?" 

The  private  secretary  put  down  his  pen  and  stood  up. 
* '  Master  Charles, ' '  he  said  with  honest  dignity,  * '  I  have 
been  your  man  this  seven  year;  you  have  known  me 
twenty-seven ;  your  father,  God  save  him !  knew  my  peo- 
ple for  years  before  I  was  bom:  did  ye  ever  hear  of 
any  one  of  my  kin  being  given  the  name  of  a  coward 
or  a  liar!" 

The  Governor's  cheek  flushed.  "I  beg  your  pardon, 
Pricer,"  said  he,  in  a  frank,  manly  way.  "I  was  hasty. 
I  would  the  world  had  taken  your  example  more  to  heart ! 
Ye  are  a  people  honest  in  word  and  deed."  Then  he 
turned,  and  for  a  moment  leaned  on  his  desk,  with  his 
head  upon  his  hand.  "Pricer,"  he  said  slowly,  at 
length,  "have  my  horse  up,  the  gray  horse,  and  my 
pistols.  See  that  the  pistols  are  loaded,  for  I  am  going  to 
ride,  and  to  ride  alone. ' ' 

The  Governor  arose  from  his  chair  as  his  secretary 
turned  to  the  door,  and  spoke  very  quickly :  ' '  Pricer,  one 
moment.  I  would  have  nothing  said  henceforward  of 
aught  I  have  said  to  you  upon  this  matter." 

"Sure  now,  your  honor,"  said  Pricer,  with  a  quiet, 
steady  gaze.  "Were  ye  speaking  to  me  about  any  mat- 
ter whatever?     Sure,  I  don't  remember  it." 

An  hour  later  the  Governor,  mounted  on  a  strong 
hunter,  iron-gray,  was  spurring  at  a  hand-gallop  across 
the  hill^. 


The  Governor  Sees,  at  Last   363 

The  sun  went  down.  The  stars  came  out.  The  pallid, 
languid  moon  arose  and  stared  like  a  lusterless  eye 
through  a  haze  on  the  eastern  horizon ;  it  gave  little  light, 
though  the  moon  was  full.  The  highway  dust  was  thick. 
There  was  no  wind. 

With  a  look  at  the  sky,  the  Governor  reined  his  horse 
from  the  road  into  a  meandering  bridle-path,  lying  faint 
among  the  still,  gray  trees,  and  spurred  into  the  forest. 
He  knew  the  path  as  he  knew  his  hand,  and  spurred  into 
the  solitude. 

The  twilight  opened  the  yellow  primroses ;  green  moths 
with  wings  a  hand-breadth  wide  fluttered  in  the  shadows ; 
now  and  then  the  cry  of  an  owl  came  quavering  through 
the  dusk  of  the  woods.  There  was  not  enough  wind  to 
cool  his  face,  but,  as  he  rode,  a  few  gray  flecks  of  cloud 
stole  up  from  the  western  horizon  with  a  host  of  clouds 
behind  them. 

The  Governor  took  one  look  about  him,  and  then  laid 
lash  to  his  horse,  setting  his  hat  tight  with  one  hand  as 
he  did  so.  He  was  now  in  a  beech-wood  braided  with 
vines,  where  many  a  moldering  forest-tree  lay  rotting 
where  it  had  fallen.  The  dull  red  stars  looked  through 
the  boughs;  the  wind  was  rising  overhead.  The  air  of 
the  wood  hung  like  that  of  a  furnace,  and  the  horse  was 
frothed  with  sweat.  It  began  to  grow  dark.  The  west 
was  beclouded.  A  curtain  of  vapor  moved  up  the  sky, 
with  fringed  edges  of  a  bright  copper  color.  The  wood 
seemed  astir  with  unseen  things,  wings  above,  pattering 
feet  below.     Then,  all  at  once,  the  wind  came  with  a 


364  Barnaby  Lee 


shriek.  It  was  so  black  now  that  he  could  hardly  see  the 
distance  of  a  rod.  The  roar  of  the  wind  was  full  of  the 
shrill  outcries  of  birds  made  homeless  by  sudden  wreck, 
for  the  trees  were  alive  with  the  gale.  By  times  it  seemed 
to  abate;  but  then  came  on  again,  until  all  the  forest 
screamed  with  its  fury.  It  came  on,  rushing  over  the 
hill-tops,  sweeping  across  dark  plateaus,  gathering 
power,  until  it  dashed  with  almost  staggering  force  full 
in  the  face  of  horse  and  man,  fairly  deafening  them  with 
its  increasing  roar,  and  hurling  the  scattered,  heavy 
drops,  the  few  fore-fallings  of  the  approaching  deluge, 
like  hailstones  into  their  faces.  Bending  low  over  his 
horse's  withers,  for  safety  among  the  uncertain  trees, 
Charles  Calvert  spurred  on. 

Out  of  the  wood  they  broke  into  the  open. 

Darker  even  than  the  darkness,  a  great  house  lifted 
its  ridged  bulk  like  a  blur  against  the  sky.  About  it  hung 
the  forest's  impenetrable  gloom.  Above  it  flashed  the  in- 
cessant lightning,  finding  its  feeble  echo  in  one  dimly 
glimmering  window's  light.  '*0n,  boy!"  cried  the  Gov- 
ernor, plying  his  whip,  and  galloped  up  the  ebony  slope 
just  as  the  storm  broke  in  fury  around  him. 

The  sound  of  hoofs  had  awakened  the  hounds.  He 
sprang  from  his  saddle  and  beat  upon  the  door  with  the 
butt  of  his  riding- whip.  "What!  here!"  he  called  out. 
"  What !  here !  the  house ! " 

A  faint  light  sprang  inside;  it  seemed  to  die  away; 
then  it  came  again,  and  broadened  in  red  streaks  across 
the  sill ;  he  heard  a  shuffling  tread  of  feet. 


The  Governor  Sees,  at  Last   365 

"Who  'e  there?  Speak  up,  or  I  '11  fire  upon  ye !"  said 
a  voice  inside  the  door. 

"In  heaven's  name!"  he  said.  "Are  ye  at  war  with 
all  the  world,  as  well  as  out  with  honor?  Open  the  door 
straightway ;  't  is  I,  the  Governor,  Charles  Calvert. ' ' 

He  heard  the  rattle  of  loosed  chains,  and  the  thump 
of  shooting  bolts.  The  portal  swung  wide,  and  the  wa- 
vering rays  of  a  candle  fell  yeUow  about  him.  The  foot- 
man was  in  his  night-clothes  and  trousers,  and  had  no 
stockings  on. 

*  *  Where  is  your  master  ? ' '  asked  the  Governor,  sharply. 

' '  In  his  bed,  the  saints  preserve  him ! ' ' 

"Go,  call  him ;  I  would  speak  with  him." 

"The  saints  save  your  honor,  I  dare  n't." 

"Go,  call  him,  I  say." 

"But  he  is  not  dressed." 

* '  Don 't  answer  me,  sirrah ;  go,  call  him,  I  say ;  and  that 
instantly.  He  needs  no  clothes  to  hear  me.  Go,  call  him, 
I  command  ye. ' ' 

From  somewhere  above  them  in  the  hallway  came  a 
thin,  shrill  voice,  quavering  out  of  the  darkness:  "Who 
are  ye,  making  all  that  noise?  Who  is  it  that  wants  me?" 

The  footman  turned  and  let  the  candle-light  shine 
along  the  hallway.  The  Governor  held  his  hand  before 
him  that  his  eyes  might  not  be  blinded. 

On  the  landing  at  the  bend  of  the  stairs  stood  Master 
Philip  Calvert,  already  fully  dressed  in  his  scarlet  velvet 
suit  and  long  black  flowing  wig.  The  gay  ribbons  on  the 
wig  were  all  bedraggled  and  forlorn ;  his  face  was  drawn 


366  Barnaby  Lee 

and  pinched,  and  of  a  very  ghastly  color.  He  stood  with 
one  hand  against  the  wall  and  the  other  upon  the  rail,  as 
if  his  legs  were  tremulous  and  weak  and  he  were  seeking 
support.  The  velvet  of  his  clothes  was  crushed,  and  his 
neck-cloth  disordered ;  his  appearance,  his  whole  attitude, 
were  desperately  weary,  as  if  he  had  been  watching  in 
his  own  sick-room  for  weeks,  and  lacking  a  chance  to 
change  his  clothes,  had  slept  just  as  he  stood. 

"Who  is  it?  and  what  is  wanted?"  he  asked;  "and 
why  do  ye  trouble  me?" 

"  'T  is  I,  Cousin  Philip,"  answered  the  Governor, 
and  stepped  out  into  the  candle-light,  the  rain-drops 
sparkling  here  and  there  like  spangles  over  his  clothing. 
*  *  I  have  come  to  speak  with  you. ' ' 

"Ye  have  come  to  speak  with  me?  In  God's  name, 
what  would  ye  speak  of  that  ye  come  at  this  time  of  the 
night?"  He  took  his  hand  down  from  the  wall  and  put 
it  upon  his  breast;  it  fluttered  amid  the  lace  there;  and 
he  shivered  as  if  he  were  ill. 

"Ah,  cousin,"  said  the  Governor,  "what  I  have  to  say 
is  not  much,  but  enough :  Where  are  the  household  goods 
that  were  taken  from  The  Earl  of  Warwick?  Where  is 
the  vessel  that  bore  that  name,  and  was  known  by  the 
badge  of  the  Beauchamps?  What  do  ye  know  of  Henry 
Lee,  of  his  estate,  or  of  his  legal  issue?  And  what  of 
the  unfortunate  lad  who  was  cabin-boy  to  a  dirty  rogue 
on  a  trading  ship  called  the  Ragged  Staff  f" 

The  Vice- Chancellor  lifted  his  hand  from  the  rail,  and 
stared  down  at  the  Governor  with  a  strange,  uncanny 


The  Governor  Sees,  at  Last   367 

stare;  his  lips  moved,  but  he  said  nothing.  Then  sud- 
denly, with  a  choking,  inarticulate  cry,  he  clutched  his 
breast  with  both  hands,  drooped  as  if  he  were  actually 
withering,  swayed  to  and  fro,  lost  his  balance,  pitched 
headlong,  and  came  sliding  down  the  stair,  a  tragical, 
crumpled  length  of  scarlet  velvet,  tumbled  wig,  and  tan- 
gled lace,  the  edges  of  his  scarlet  shoe-soles  beating 
sharply  along  the  stair-steps  as  he  slid. 

At  the  foot  of  the  stair  he  turned  over  and  lay  flat  of 
his  back,  his  glazed  eyes  staring  up  at  the  ceiling. 

They  carried  him  to  a  lounge  in  the  side-room. 
"Here,"  said  the  Governor  sharply  to  the  footman,  who 
stood  like  a  palsied,  dumb-stricken  ghost,  staring  at  his 
master 's  ghastly  face.  ' '  Put  that  candle  into  a  stick,  and 
fetch  me  a  flask  of  cordial.  Jump !  And  hark  'e,  sirrah, ' ' 
he  said,  with  a  face  that  made  the  footman  gasp.  "When 
ye  leave  this  room  and  close  that  door,  go  straight  to  your 
quarters,  speaking  to  nobody ;  for  if  ever  I  hear  ye  have 
whispered  a  word  o'  this  night's  doings  or  sayings,  I  '11 
have  ye  done  with  a  cat-o  '-nines  and  sold  into  Barbados. ' ' 

The  footman  swiftly  obeyed  him. 

"Now,  Philip,"  said  the  Governor  as  he  poured  a  glass 
of  the  reviving  liquor  into  the  mouth  of  the  shuddering 
Vice-Chancellor,  "tell  me  this  out  from  first  to  last.  I 
shall  first  know  what  it  is  ye  have  brought  to  our  name 
Then  we  '11  see  what  is  to  be  done. ' ' 

"Ah,  man,"  groaned  Philip  Calvert.  "I  was  tempted 
of  the  devil.  I  ha'  paid  it  out  a  thousand-fold;  I  ha' 
gnawed  my  heart  out  with  remorse."    With  that  he  fell 


368  Barnaby  Lee 

to  sobbing  weakly,  which  is  a  pitiful  thing  to  see  in  a 
full-grown  man.  There  was  something  tragically  pa- 
thetic in  his  weak,  tremulous  lip,  his  pale,  high  forehead, 
his  eyes  that,  try  as  they  would  to  meet  the  gaze  of  the 
world  with  the  old,  proud,  overbearing  look,  were  grown 
so  irresolute  that  they  could  not  bear  even  to  face  them- 
selves in  the  looking-glass.  "I  will  make  full  restitu- 
tion," he  whispered.  "I  ha'  fallen  away;  I  ha'  known 
no  joy;  my  heart  is  dead,  or  broken.  But,  oh,  Charlie, 
not  ignominy — no,  no;  I  cannot  bear  it!  I  cannot  bear 
that  men  should  point  at  me  in  scorn ! ' ' 

"Then  out  with  it  all  from  first  to  last,  that  we  may 
see  what  the  dictates  of  justice  require." 

*'  'T  will  take  aU  night." 

**We  have  all  night." 

When  the  Vice-Chancellor  was  done,  the  Governor 
slowly  shook  his  head.  "Philip,"  said  he,  "ye  have 
heard  it  read:  'There  is  a  way  which  seemeth  right 
unto  a  man ;  but  the  end  thereof  are  the  ways  of  death. ' 
Take  thy  feet  out  of  it." 

The  next  day  Master  Charles  Calvert  sailed  for  New 
Amsterdam, 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

IN  LORDSHIP  LONELY 

IT  was  a  crisp  October  morning  on  which  Bamaby 
Lee  and  Master  Simeon  Drew  set  out  from  St. 
Mary's  town  across  the  ferry  to  invest  the  heir  to  a  fair 
estate.  The  sheep-bells  tinkled  on  the  hills.  Everything 
was  sharp  and  fresh.  The  brown  brooks  splashed  down 
over  the  stones,  and  the  autumn  leaves  rustled  along  the 
road.  The  rattling  thump  of  the  horses'  hoofs  was  dulled 
and  softened  by  them.  The  haze  of  September  was  gone 
from  the  hills;  clearings,  meadows,  tobacco-lands  lay 
clear  and  fair.  On  they  went.  The  sound  of  the  mill 
at  St.  Mary's  died  away  in  the  distance,  and  with  it  the 
sound  of  horns  from  the  ships  in  the  inlet.  Then  the 
brown  woods  closed  on  the  road  behind  them,  and  even 
the  city  was  lost  to  view. 

Thump,  thump,  went  the  hoofs  of  the  horses  along  the 
leaf-strewn  roadway.  Little  vistas  among  oaks  and  elm- 
trees  opened  constantly  as  they  rode.  Here  and  there  a 
quiet  cow,  cheerfully  spotted  red  and  white,  cropped  at 
peace  in  the  pleasant  meadows.  It  was  a  fair,  romantic 
country.  The  road  wound  among  the  hills;  the  forests 
were  meshed  with  bridle-paths,  and  were  full  of  the 
S4  369 


370  Barnaby  Lee 

sound  of  distant  voices.  Here  and  there  along  the  way 
heavy  oxen  passed  them,  swaying  down  from  the  up- 
lands with  long-shafted  trundles  of  leaf-tobacco  rolling 
and  rumbling  behind  them.  ''Sir,"  said  Barnaby,  his 
heart  uplifted  by  the  beauty  all  about  him,  "the  Chil- 
tern  hills  themselves  are  not  more  fair  than  this  is." 

"It  is  a  fair  land,"  said  Drew,  quietly,  "a  fair  land, 
indeed.  They  chose  well  who  chose  it  first ;  it  is  a  garden- 
spot  on  the  earth's  face.  You,  yourself.  Master  Lee,  are 
heir  to  a  lovely  place,  lying  beyond  these  woodlands,  a 
beautiful  spot  and  a  fair  estate.  Yet,  I  pray  thee,  no 
further  questions !  You  have  been  kept  from  a  right  in- 
heritance by  ill-advised  connivance,  but  restitution  has 
been  made.  There  is  a  house,  a  good,  substantia]  house, 
furnished  from  cellar  to  ridge-pole;  furnished,  make  a 
note  of  that.  There  are  stables  and  barns,  bins,  forge,  a 
paddock,  horses,  sheep,  swine,  cattle,  goats,  I  believe,  and 
efficient  service,  though  I  have  sent  the  underlings  pack- 
ing into  parts  that  knew  not  Joseph ;  and  there  is  a  capi- 
tal factor  and  overseer  already  in  charge.  This  is  in 
part  compensation,  if  there  can  be  any  compensation, 
for  the  wrongs  you  have  endured,  not  as  restitution. 
The  original  lands  were  as  wild  as  a  fox,  and  as  bare  of 
tillage  as  this  wood.  They  were  taken  in  misapprehen- 
sion by  one  whose  name  shall  nevermore  appear  in  con- 
nection with  them.  Ask  no  further,  but  forget;  it  will 
be  much  better  forgotten.  If  yon  be  pleased  to  retain 
me  after  thinking  it  over,  Master  Lee,  I  shall  ever  be 
pleased  to  serve  ye. ' ' 


In  Lordship  Lonely  371 

"I  do  please  to  retain  ye,  sir.  Ye  have  Deen  mightily 
kind  to  me." 

"To  be  sure  I  have,"  said  Master  Drew;  "I  was  very 
well  paid  for  it.  Why  should  I  not  be  kind  when  I  am 
paid  for  it  ?  " 

"Were  ye  paid  for  saying  'God  rest  ye!'  at  my  door 
in  the  dead  of  the  night?  I  was  not  asleep,  sir;  I  was 
thinking." 

Simeon  Drew  turned  red  with  confusion.  The  pose 
he  loved  was  flinty  hardness.  He  delighted  to  shut  his 
lips,  scowling,  and  say,  "Begone,  ye  good-for-nothing 
dog!"  But  his  heart  was  as  soft  as  a  woman's,  when 
you  came  to  the  inner  parts  of  it,  inside  the  husk  of  years. 
"You  're  a  shrewd  man.  Drew,"  he  would  say  to  himself, 
as  he  put  on  his  wig  before  his  little  dressing-glass  in  the 
morning ;  ' '  you  're  a  clever  man,  Drew.  But  you  are  a 
hard  man ;  ye  oppress  widows,  offend  orphans,  and  grind 
the  face  of  the  poor.  Yes,  ye  do.  Drew.  Don't  smirk 
so  self-righteously ;  ye  are  a  hard,  cold  man."  Yet,  as 
sure  as  * '  Begone,  ye  good-for-nothing  dog ! ' '  came  snap- 
ping from  his  lips,  a  shilling  came  out  of  his  pocket. 
His  wrinkled  face  was  like  an  old,  juicy  apple  that  has 
lain  all  winter  in  a  cellar  and  lost  its  juiciness  without 
spoiling  its  flavor  or  losing  its  ruddy  cheeks.  He  grew 
very  red,  and  ' '  Hut,  tut,  boy ;  you  're  too  young  to  flat- 
ter! "  said  he,  in  great  confusion. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  said  Bamaby.  "Then  I  shall  keep 
it,  and  when  I  am  old  I  will  tell  ye  again.  Ye  have  been 
uncommonly   good  to  me,   and  I  shall  not  forget  it. 


1^^ 2  Barnaby  Lee 

There  was  a  woman  once  gave  me  a  pie,  at  a  Buckingham- 
shire farm-house,  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  Some  day 
I  am  going  back  again,  and  search  that  woman  out,  and 
give  her  a  ring,  if  I  have  money  to  buy  it.  Sure,  sir,  it  is 
good  to  be  grateful  to  people  who  have  befriended  ye." 

"There  is  little  profit  in  it,"  said  Drew,  with  a  faded 
smile. 

"My  father  said  that  profits  were  the  checkers  of  Old 
Nick." 

"Then  the  earth  is  Old  Nick's  checker-board,  and  the 
whole  world  's  playing  a  sooty  game !  Are  ye  sure  that 
your  father  is  dead.  Master  Lee?"  asked  the  lawyer, 
soberly. 

' '  I  saw  him  fall  on  his  face,  sir,  and  heard  the  murder- 
ing pistols  shooting.  Do  not  speak  of  it  any  more.  Mas- 
ter Drew ;  I  can  hardly  bear  to  think  of  it ! "  With  that, 
Barnaby,  choking,  spurred  up  the  long  hill. 

Over  its  brow  they  came  galloping  suddenly  into  the 
open.  Before  them  stretched  a  property  beautiful  and 
broad,  on  the  southward  slope  of  a  green  hill,  by  a  wood 
of  dark,  tall  pine-trees.  They  came  on  it  quickly  out  of 
the  wood,  a  strong  barn  of  Flemish  brick,  a  paddock,  a 
forge  with  a  smoky  stack,  an  anvil  ringing  clearly  in  the 
dusky  room  below;  then  the  house  itself,  standing  up 
against  the  wood  like  a  castle  on  a  hill. 

Beyond  the  house  the  plantation  ran  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  see:  maize-land,  tobacco,  and  old  wheat-fields;  nut- 
woods and  a  wild-rice  fen;  meadow-lands  netted  with 
bubbling  streams;  hills  shaded  by  untouched  forests,  in 


In  Lordship  Lonely  373 

which  were  birds  and  deer  uncounted.  It  was  indeed 
a  rich  estate.  The  house  at  the  top  of  the  hill  was  tall, 
with  a  gallery  running  between  its  wings,  and  many  criss- 
cross-timbered gables,  green  with  ivy  to  their  ridge-poles. 
The  chimneys,  over  which  the  ivy  had  grown,  looked  like 
needle-towers  upon  a  castle  of  green.  The  front  of  the 
house  and  the  portico,  where  it  showed  among  the  elm- 
trees,  were  garlanded  with  Virginia  creeper,  flaming  red 
with  the  autumn  frosts ;  and  here  and  there  a  little  win- 
dow, hung  with  a  snow-white  linen  curtain,  sparkled  and 
peeped  like  a  twinkling  eye  through  the  overhanging 
vines.  The  diamond  panes  of  the  open  windows  gleamed 
in  the  cloudless  sunlight  as  though  they  were  gathering 
warmth  and  cheer  against  the  dreary  days  of  the  coming 
winter. 

About  the  rear  of  the  house  was  an  orchard  of  apple 
and  pear  and  cherry  trees,  with  a  broad  garden  of  roots 
and  herbs,  rosemary,  sweet  marjoram,  sage,  and  thyme; 
nighest  the  house  were  peach-trees.  Before  the  house  lay 
a  garden,  full  of  many  brown-leaved  shrubs  which  in  the 
summer  had  been  flowers,  roses  of  Turkey,  and  Persian 
irises,  with  hyacinths  and  tulips  in  rows. 

Between  the  garden  and  the  beech-wood,  which 
stretched  on  downward  to  the  shining  marshes,  lay  a  roll- 
ing breadth  of  unterraced  lawn  shimmering  with  the 
autumn  grass.  Here  and  there  was  a  shade-tree  with  a 
little  bench  beneath  it.  Altogether  it  was  as  fair  a  place 
as  was  in  the  colony. 

"Master  Drew,  is  this  all  mine?"  asked  Bamaby, 
aghast. 


374  Barnaby  Lee 

**Yes,"  said  Drew,  ''it  is." 

Barnaby  stared,  his  heart  in  his  throat.  It  was  won- 
derful as  a  dream. 

On  a  bench  beside  the  door  a  man  was  cleaning  har- 
ness, one  eye  on  the  harness  and  one  upon  a  laughing, 
buxom  lass  who  was  standing  in  the  door.  Hearing  the 
tread  of  the  horses'  hoofs,  he  dropped  the  harness,  and 
came  running  out  to  meet  them.  "Welcome,  Master 
Drew,"  he  said.  "I  'm  glad  to  see  ye!"  Barnaby 
scarcely  knew  that  he  spoke.  He  dismounted  in  a  daze. 
He  felt  as  if  he  were  dreaming. 

But  it  was  no  dream.  Under  his  feet  the  ruddy  drifts 
of  the  autumn  leaves  rustled,  giving  forth  a  clean,  fresh 
odor  where  the  sun  lay  warm  upon  them.  A  woman 
stood  on  the  step  by  the  door.  She  curtsied  low.  "Mas- 
ter Lee,"  she  said  in  a  tremulous  voice,  "I  ha'  kept  this 
house  four  years ! ' ' 

"Then,  mistress,  go  on  keeping  it,"  said  Barnaby. 
"What  could  I  do  in  this  vast  place  if  there  were  not 
some  one  to  keep  it  ?  And  if  there  be  a  butler  and  a  cook, 
pray  keep  them  also.  I  shall  be  adread  in  this  great 
mansion  if  there  be  no  other  feet  than  mine  to  wake 
the  echoes  in  it.  I  am  not  large  as  the  house  is,  nor  can 
I  spread  myself  to  fill  it.  If  there  be  nobody  else, 
ma'am,  to  sit  beside  my  fire,  I  beg  ye,  come  sometimes, 
yourself,  and  sit  with  me  to  fill  the  emptiness ;  or  find  me 
a  clean,  small  cat  to  play  with  in  the  evenings ;  a  hound 
is  company  afield,  but  falls  asleep  too  soon  indoors." 

"Bless  ye,  sir,"  said  the  woman.  "Shalt  have  a  cat: 


In  Lordship  Lonely  ^7 5 

ay,  two  cats ;  and  as  for  me,  sir,  I  '11  look  in,  and  my  old 
man  shall  speak  with  thee.    Who  is  to  stay  ? ' ' 

"Ye  are  all  to  stay  who  are  here,"  said  Drew,  in  his 
dry,  crisp  way.  "We  've  no  fault  to  find.  Ye  've  kept 
the  place  exceeding  well  for  Master— tooraloo,  tooraloo !" 
he  suddenly  broke  off,  as  if  he  were  singing.  "Come, 
Master  Lee ;  let  us  go  look  through  the  stables.  You  will 
find  the  maids  pretty;  your  valet  is  from  London;  he 
dresses  wigs  beyond  all  belief.  You  must  get  you  a  wig. ' ' 

"I  prefer  my  own  hair,  sir." 

' '  Well,  so  should  I,  if  I  had  any.  But  you  really  must 
find  the  rogue  something  to  do." 

"As  to  that,  sir,  will  ye  not  take  him?  I  should  lie 
awake  half  the  night,  I  know,  thinking  what  he  should 
do." 

' '  Tut !  you  will  soon  be  quite  at  home. ' ' 

Barnaby  looked  around  them.  "Master  Drew,"  he 
said  earnestly,  "  do  ye  think  that  by  calling  a  place  home 
ye  can  make  it  seem  homelike?" 

Drew  looked  down.  " Nay,  lad, "  he  said  gently.  "No 
calling  makes  a  place  a  home.  'T  is  the  love  that  is  in 
it  which  fastens  on  our  hearts  like  a  hook  of  steel.  'T  is 
not  those  we  live  life  with,  but  those  we  live  life  for  that 
make  it  worth  the  living,  and  the  place  where  we  live 
it  home.  God  send  ye  company;  I  ha'  lived  sixty  year 
alone  myself.  Yet  call  it  home ;  't  is  a  fair  estate,  and  it 
may  be  that  happiness  shall  abide  beneath  the  roof;  at 
any  rate  a  stout  heart  is  the  best  company  for  a  man  who 
goes  walking  alone. '  * 


CHAPTER   XLV 


THE   STRANGE   RIDERS 


ON  a  noonday,  perhaps  two  weeks  after,  Barnaby 
Lee  was  taken  by  a  spell  of  bitterest  loneliness. 
What  had  him  by  the  heart  the  boy  could  not  imagine. 
There  was  no  place  he  wished  to  go,  no  place  he  cared  to 
stay;  he  found  no  satisfaction  in  idleness;  he  was  irri- 
table, lonely  and  depressed,  and  restless  everywhere. 

He  left  the  house,  for  the  building  loomed  about  him 
as  vacant  as  an  empty  inn,  seeming  greater  day  by  day, 
and  emptier. 

The  hallways  echoed  emptily  as  he  closed  the  door  be- 
hind him.  The  foxhounds  sniffed  with  vague  suspicion 
at  his  heels;  they  knew  him  for  their  master,  but  not 
yet  as  their  friend.  One  old  hound  with  a  crippled  leg, 
more  kindly  than  the  rest,  came  running  after  him. 
**Go  back,"  said  Barnaby,  drearily;  "there  's  no  need 
of  your  following  me."  The  old  hound  stopped,  stood 
watching  him  with  its  head  upon  one  side,  whined  softly, 
wagged  its  worn  tail  a  little  wistfully,  then  trotted  back ; 
and  Barnaby  went  on.  Turning  out  of  the  road,  he  wan- 
dered aimlessly  down  through  the  tawny  fields  toward 
the  river. 

376 


The  Strange  Riders  377 

It  was  a  beautiful  day,  cool  and  bright.  A  little  wind 
was  blowing.  The  clouds  hung  low  on  the  face  of  the 
world,  and  as  far  as  he  could  see  the  hills  were  crimson 
and  purple  and  gold.  The  edges  of  the  little  streams 
had  caught  the  fire  from  the  sky,  and  across  the  Potomac 
the  light  lay  in  ripples  of  melted  gold.  Awhile  the  sky 
was  overcast,  and  then  the  sun  swept  through  the  broken 
clouds.  From  somewhere  through  the  great  stillness 
came  a  sound  of  women's  voices,  singing,  by  the  river, 
a  Latin  hymn  to  the  Virgin,  faint  with  distance,  yet  sweet 
and  clear.  A  sloop  with  a  sail  like  ivory  was  coming 
down  the  stream ;  in  the  sky  two  eagles  flew  straight  up 
into  the  sun.  The  roof  of  a  cabin,  far  away  on  the  hills, 
was  brilliant  as  a  diamond.  It  seemed  as  if  everything 
must  be  bright  on  a  day  as  fair  as  this,  lighted  with  the 
unutterable  glory  of  the  clouds.  Yet  Bamaby  grew 
heavier-hearted,  as  if  by  contrast.  The  gulls  swept  above 
the  broad  stream,  or  rested  on  its  moving  waters.  All 
the  world  seemed  clad  in  peace ;  yet  to  Bamaby  it  grew 
lonelier  through  its  very  peacefulness. 

He  wondered  if  it  were  always  so  silent  there  in  the 
hollow  of  the  hill;  and  all  at  once  his  lips  twitched. 

He  stopped  beneath  a  little  oak,  his  eyes  suddenly 
filled  by  a  rush  of  tears.  This  was  the  land  where  his 
father  and  he  were  to  have  dwelt  together  in  peace.  The 
dead  leaves  fell  about  him,  drifting,  twirling  in  the  wind. 
He  put  out  his  hands,  with  half  a  sob. 

"Oh,  daddy !  Oh,  daddy !"  he  said,  and  then  could  say 
no  more. 


7  8  Barnaby  Lee 


God  knows  if  the  dumb  prayers  of  men  are  heard  on 
the  infinite  walls  of  peace  that  ring  the  eternal  city ;  but, 
"Oh,  daddy,  come  back!"  said  Barnaby.  "Come  back 
to  me  again!  I  am  desolate  without  ye,  daddy.  There 
is  nobody  left  who  cares  for  me ! " 

"What?  Barnaby!"  said  a  clear,  girlish  voice. 
"Hast  so  soon  forgotten  me?" 

He  turned,  and  there  in  the  path  behind  him  stood 
Dorothy  Van  Sweringen,  the  sunshine  falling  upon  her 
face  through  the  sparse  leaves  of  the  little  oak-tree,  her 
lips  just  parted  as  she  spoke.  Fair-haired  and  unhooded, 
her  hair  was  blown  about  by  the  wind  until  it  shone  like 
a  haze  of  gold.  She  had  on  the  crimson  jacket,  and  the 
little  blue-and-white-striped  petticoat  in  which  he  first 
had  seen  her  on  the  wall  of  Fort  Amsterdam. 

Speechlessly  he  stared  at  her,  totally  surprised. 

"It  is  I,  dear  lad,"  she  said;  and  laid  her  hand  upon 
his  arm.  "We,  too,  have  come  to  Maryland,  and  are 
to  be  English,  also.  We  live  across  one  little  brief  hill" 
— she  pointed  as  she  spoke.  "And  our  house  is  thy 
house;  and,  if  thou  dost  so  please,  we  are  thy  people. 
We  have  loved  thee;  we  love  thee  now;  we  shall  for- 
ever love  thee  for  what  thou  didst  for  us ;  yea,  for  thine 
own  self  we  love  thee.  Wilt  thou  not  love  and  care  for 
us  as  we  love  and  care  for  thee?  Then  we  shall  all  be 
kind  together,  and  thou  shalt  never  again  be  lonely." 

She  paused  a  moment,  with  cheeks  suffused  and  a 
little  mist  in  her  bright  blue  eyes.  Yet  still  he  did  not 
look  up  at  her  face,  but  stood  with  his  head  hanging 
down  on  his  breast. 


The  Strange  Riders  379 

"Dear  lad,"  she  continued,  "we  have  all  come  over 
to  dine  with  thee,  in  honor  of  thine  heritage;  for  thou 
art  lord  and  master  here,  ruler  of  thine  hall.  I  saw  thee 
going  across  the  meadow,  through  the  wood,  and  down 
the  hill ;  and  so,  dear  lad,  I  followed  thee,  and  am  come 
to  call  thee  home." 

Barnaby  looked  up. 

"How  good  ye  are  to  me,"  he  said;  "how  pleasant 
it  is  to  see  you!"  Then  he  paused  and  swept  one  look 
over  the  broad  autumnal  world  about  them:  the  river 
rolling  down  to  the  sea,  the  hills  a-dream  in  splendor, 
the  mountains  of  cloud  against  the  sky  like  alabaster 
domes.  "It  is  a  good  world,  after  all,"  he  said,  "and  I 
will  not  call  it  bad. ' ' 

So  they  started  up  the  hill,  the  bright  leaves  falling 
all  about  them,  and  the  sunlight  through  the  clouds  run- 
ning across  the  woodland.  Teray,  teree,  teray!  sang  the 
little  bird  in  the  thorn-bush;  a  squirrel  scampered  with 
rippling  tail  across  the  fallen  leaves;  a  grasshopper,  an- 
cient and  hoary,  sprang  through  the  spears  of  the  faded 
grass.  Dorothy  looked  up  and  smiled ;  her  bright  cheeks 
were  a  little  flushed,  her  eyes  unusually  blue.  She  put 
out  her  hand  and  tenderly  patted  Barnaby 's  shoulder. 
His  face  was  brighter  and  more  calm,  but  his  mouth  was 
wistful  still. 

The  earthen  path  was  lifted  by  the  moles  that  tun- 
neled through  the  woodland;  a  pheasant  rushed  by  like 
a  cannon-ball,  and  disappeared  among  the  scrub-oaks. 
Then  all  at  once  the  crows  began  to  rise  among  the  trees 


380  Barnaby  Lee 

that  stood  along  the  hill,  and  to  fly  away  like  cawing 
flakes  of  soot  across  the  forest.  There  seemed  to  be  a 
going-on  beyond  the  underwood ;  as  the  two  came  through 
the  beech-wood  where  the  brush  had  been  cleared  away, 
they  could  see  the  hounds  running  down  the  hill  as  if 
they  were  hunting  a  fox. 

Two  men  upon  roan  horses  were  coming  through  the 
forest  beyond  the  limits  of  the  clearing.  Passing  the 
gates  at  a  gallop,  they  came  thumping  up  the  drive  to 
the  house.  The  hounds  trailed  behind,  or  ran  before 
them,  baying,  springing  up,  and  yelping,  until  the  woods 
reechoed  with  their  clamor. 

One  of  the  men  was  a  servant.  He  was  sharply  berat- 
ing the  hounds,  calling  them  back  and  kicking  at  them 
as  they  leaped  around  his  horse.  But  the  other  stranger 
spurred  on  ahead  as  if  he  were  in  haste.  They  still 
were  among  the  woodlands,  and  the  sunlight  and  shadow 
flickered  upon  them,  so  that  one  could  not  distinguish 
their  features. 

Barnaby  lifted  his  head  and  stared. 

"I  wonder  who  that  can  be?"  he  said.  "Let  's  hurry, 
Dorothy." 

Then  all  at  once  he  put  up  his  hands.  "I  am  going 
to  run,"  he  said. 

His  voice  was  queer. 

The  riders  had  now  neared  the  edge  of  the  wood  and 
all  at  once  galloped  out  into  the  sunshine. 

The  man  who  was  spurring  so  swiftly  was  tall, 
straight,  and  fair.    He  wore  «  scarlet  riding-coat  and  a 


The  Strange  Riders         381 

gentleman's  decent  sword.  When  Barnaby  saw  the  rake 
of  his  leg  and  the  way  he  sat  his  saddle,  the  boy  started 
up  the  hill,  running  as  hard  as  he  could  run.  His  face 
was  white  and  his  eyes  were  staring.  All  he  could  see 
was  a  patch  of  red  sweeping  along  the  roadway,  for  sud- 
denly he  was  crying  hard;  yet  while  he  cried  he  was 
laughing,  and  while  he  cried  and  laughed  together  he 
ran  until  he  seemed  almost  to  fly. 

The  stranger,  galloping  through  the  grassland,  seeing 
Barnaby  running  so  hard,  turned  in  his  saddle  and 
looked  at  him,  and  then  from  looking  began  to  stare. 

Barnaby  put  up  his  hands  and  shouted.  What  he  said 
no  one  could  have  understood.  But  the  stranger,  hear- 
ing it,  gave  a  cry,  and  turning  his  horse  from  the  beaten 
road,  came  galloping  down  through  the  field  as  if  he  were 
riding  for  life's  sake, 

Barnaby 's  hat  had  fallen  off,  and  his  yellow  hair  was 
flying.  He  was  running  as  he  never  had  run  before. 
The  man  loosed  his  feet  from  his  stirrups  as  the  horse 
came  on,  and  before  he  had  come  to  where  the  lad  was, 
sprang  from  his  saddle  with  a  great  bound,  and  came 
running  through  the  grass,  crying,  "Oh,  is  it  you,  my 
little  boy?     Oh,  Barnaby,  is  it  you?" 

But  all  that  Barnaby  cried  was,  "Daddy,  daddy, 
daddy!"  and  running  even  faster  than  he  had  run 
before,  he  sped  through  the  tall  grass,  crying  out  and 
running,  and  met  the  stranger  in  the  midst  of  the  field, 
and  fell  upon  his  neck. 

The    loosened    horse    went    thumping    on,    cantering 


382  Barnaby  Lee 

through  the  beech-wood,  then  turned  with  a  whinny  and 
looked  back;  the  crows  flew  over  the  tree-tops  cawing  as 
if  they  were  all  gone  daft;  the  hounds  went  baying  up 
the  hill  in  a  white  pack  to  the  stables.  But  the  two  in 
the  field  heeded  neither  crows,  horse,  nor  hounds,  nor 
took  notice  of  anything  about  them.  They  could  hardly 
see  for  the  tears,  yet  they  looked  with  devouring  eyes  one 
at  the  other.  They  could  scarcely  speak  for  laughing  and 
choking,  yet  they  both  were  talking  at  once  together,  and 
neither  listened  to  what  the  other  was  saying,  nor  cared 
so  much  as  twopence  for  aught  he  was  saying  himself. 
The  wind  in  the  high  grass  around  them  made  billows 
like  a  sea;  but  wind,  billows,  or  sea  were  as  nothing  to 
them.  They  clung  to  one  another  as  if  hardly  death 
itself  should  ever  part  them  again,  and  the  sunshine 
through  the  broken  clouds  made  a  glory  on  their  heads. 


CHAPTER  XLVI 


THE   END 


BUT  Dorothy  Van  Sweringen  fled  like  a  deer  up  the 
slope  through  the  meadows,  and  darting  in  at  the 
open  door,  ran  along  the  reechoing  hall  to  the  door  of 
the  great,  quiet  room  where  her  parents  were  waiting. 

*  *  He  is  not  dead  at  all ! "  she  cried,  ablaze  with  excite- 
ment. * '  He  rideth  on  a  horse.  He  weareth  a  red  riding- 
coat.  He  is  coming  up  through  the  meadow;  Barnaby 
is  with  him.  Ai!  happy,  happy  day!"  Clapping  her 
hands,  she  danced  about  the  room  as  if  she  were  pos- 
sessed. 

"Who  rideth  a  horse?"  asked  Van  Sweringen. 

** Barnaby 's  father,"  she  answered. 

"What?" 

"Ay!" 

"Nay?" 

"  'T  is  true!" 

"Oh,  what  a  chance!"  cried  Van  Sweringen.  "Ach, 
let  us  run  out  to  meet  them ! ' ' 

The  three  of  them  together,  waving  their  hands  and 
their  handkerchiefs,  sent  up  a  shrill,  clamoring  cheer 

383 


3^4  Barnaby  Lee 

from  the  porch  as  Bamaby  came  up  the  field,  with  his 
arm  around  his  father,  and  his  father's  arm  around  him. 

The  afternoon  went  by  like  the  wind ;  the  moon  came 
over  the  eastern  hills  like  a  silver  platter  on  a  purple 
wall ;  yet  the  sun  was  not  down,  and  the  rusty  hills  were 
still  golden  with  the  ruddy  light. 

Barnaby  Lee  and  his  people  were  seated  at  the  table. 
The  sunshine  on  flagons  and  drinking-cups  danced  in 
reflected  rainbows  on  wainscot  and  on  ceiling,  and  lay 
upon  Dorothy's  fair  hair  like  the  golden-circling  aureole 
around  the  head  of  some  maiden  saint.  There  was  a 
little  stirring  of  knives  and  forks,  a  savory  breath  from 
the  snow-white  table,  a  fragrance  of  autumn  leaves  laid 
down  in  a  wreath  with  barley-straws. 

"And  I  am  not  dead,  nor  ever  was,"  said  Barnaby 's 
father,  softly.  ' '  George  Levering,  poor  gallant  fool,  needs 
out  with  who  he  was  as  we  came  through  the  streets  of 
Shoreham.  The  constables  and  yeomanry  were  on  us  in 
a  trice.  To  me  they  offered  passage  scot-free  if  I  would 
stand  from  Levering.  But,  nay,  that  could  not  be.  So 
we  fought  them  through  the  village,  and  made  a  stand 
in  the  market-place.  Again  they  offered  me  my  life  if  I 
would  stand  from  Levering ;  but  the  poor  lad  set  his  back 
to  mine ;  none  but  a  coward  could  desert  him ;  and  so  we 
fought  until  he  died.  I  was  only  shot  through  the  body. 
My  time  had  not  come.  Arrested  and  jailed  on  the 
charge  of  treason,  my  life  was  saved,  but  I  lingered  in 
prison ;  and  nothing  I  could  say  or  do  found  me  clemency 
with  King  Charles,  until  this  spring,  when  the  Earl  of 
Southampton,  who  is  my  distant  kinsman,  stood  my 


The  End  385 

friend,  and  I  was  pardoned.  I  stood  like  a  beggar  in 
the  street.  My  Quarrendon  estate  was  flown ;  my  ancient 
friends  were  all  estranged;  my  wife  was  dead;  my  son 
was  gone.  I  had  no  heart  for  war;  a  profligate  court  I 
could  not  endure;  I  turned  my  face  westward  and  fol- 
lowed the  track  of  my  old  investments — what  more  is 
there  to  tell?"  He  looked  around  the  listening  table. 
"When  I  reached  St.  Mary's  town  I  was  met  by  news 
which  made  my  heart  swell  until  I  thought  it  would 
burst  within  me.  What  it  was,  need  I  say?  Here  is  my 
old  investment;  here  are  my  lands;  and  here— my  own 
son  Barnaby." 

With  that  he  suddenly  bent  his  head  above  his  folded 
hands. 

"Dear  God,"  he  said,  **thou  hast  been  passing  good 
this  day  to  Captain  Harry  Lee.    I  will  say  grace." 

Then  all  of  them  bowed  their  heads,  too,  Barnaby 's 
beside  his  father's,  both  as  bright  as  hammered  gold, 
though  his  father's  was  streaked  with  gray. 

Harry  Lee's  voice  was  shaking  as  he  faltered  out  his 
grace:  "Father  in  heaven,  who  maketh  us  all  we  are, 
who  keepeth  us  in  safety,  and  who  giveth  us  all  we  have : 
to  those  whom  we  love  send  thy  saving  love;  to  the  foes 
whom  we  hate  forgiveness ;  yea,  Father,  forgiveness  even 
to  those  whom  we,  being  human,  cannot  forgive  upon 
earth ;  but  grant  us  that  we  may  forgive  them  in  heaven 
as  we  ourselves  hope  for  forgiveness.  To  thee  eternally 
our  thanks  and  glory  must  arise  for  thine  infinite 
charity.     Deserving  naught,  we  are  greatly  rewarded; 


386  Barnaby  Lee 

expecting  nothing,  thou  hast  granted  us  all  that  our 
hearts  have  so  long  desired.  Yet,  Father,  though  it 
had  been  denied,  though  sore  of  heart  and  lonely,  still 
should  we  always  praise  and  exalt  thy  name,  saying, 
'Hosanna  to  the  Lord  of  hosts,  for  His  mercy  endureth 
forever.'  " 

He  crossed  himself,  so  also  Barnaby,  while  they  re- 
cited in  unison :  * '  Glory  be  to  the  Father,  and  to  the  Son, 
and  to  the  Holy  Ghost.  As  it  was  in  the  beginning,  is 
now,  and  ever  shall  be,  world  without  end.  Amen. 
Alleluia!" 

Van  Sweringen  was  sitting  between  his  wife  and 
daughter,  and  under  the  edge  of  the  table-cloth  he  was 
holding  their  hands  in  his.  On  the  breathless  little 
silence  that  followed  the  grace  there  fell  a  quick,  sharp 
whisper:  "Please,  daddy  dearest,  I  will  love  thee  quite 
as  well  if  thou  dost  not  crush  my  poor  fingers ! "  It  was 
Dorothy's  voice.  They  all  laughed,  for  their  eyes  were 
full,  and  it  was  high  time  for  occasion  for  laughter. 

Captain  Harry  Lee  looked  around  him.  The  faces  of 
all  were  glowing  and  bright  with  the  last  red  sun- 
light. 

"God  bless  ye  all  that  were  good  to  my  lad!"  he  said, 
in  a  deep,  vibrating  voice.  ' '  There  was  never  a  Lee  for- 
got a  friend ;  nor  shall  my  boy,  nor  I.  Is  anything  lack- 
ing which  might  add  to  the  happiness  of  to-day?  Nay, 
there  is  naught.    God  keep  it  so  ever,  bright  and  fair!" 

"Amen  to  that,"  said  Mynheer  Van  Sweringen. 
**May  God  so  bless  us  all,  wherever  we  may  go!" 


The  End  387 


They  were  all  quite  still  for  a  moment.  Barnaby 
felt  Dorothy's  hand  rest  lightly  on  his  own.  Then  the 
knives  and  platters  began  to  move  about  the  happy  table. 
Twilight  dimmed  the  glowing  light,  but  peace  had  come 
with  the  stars. 

Thus  endeth  here  the  story  of  the  life  of  Barnaby  Lee. 
The  days  that  had  promised  the  fairest  had  gone  out  in 
mist  and  storm,  and  those  which  had  seemed  the  darkest 
had  come  to  the  brightest  end.  So  it  may  prove  with  the 
commonest  lives  upon  this  little  earth. 

What  happened  further  lies  beyond  the  province  of 
this  book.  Dorothy  Van  Sweringen  and  Barnaby  Lee 
played  their  parts  in  this  life  bravely,  and  the  world  was 
the  better  for  their  having  been  in  it. 

Harry  Lee  was  to  the  end  a  soldier  and  a  gentleman. 
You  may  find  his  lands  recorded  in  musty  files  in  Mary- 
land, if  so  be  that  you  care  to  look.  His  life  was  hard 
and  troubled,  yet  he  lived  it  gallantly,  and  found  com- 
fort in  its  happy  close.  He  has  slept  in  peace  for  two 
hundred  years  beneath  the  Maryland  pines. 

Gerrit  Van  Sweringen  was  sheriff  of  Governor  Cal- 
vert's county,  as  his  friend  had  promised  he  should  be, 
was  interpreter  to  the  Council,  attained  position  and 
wealth,  was  a  hot-headed,  shrewd-witted,  gallant  fellow 
to  the  end,  beloved  by  his  friends,  feared  by  his  foes, 
and  respected  by  all  honest  men.  His  descendants  are 
scattered  through  many  a  State  and  many  a  Territory. 
It  may  be  that  you  who  peruse  these  pages  have  in  your 


388  Barnaby  Lee 

reins  a  spark  of  the  heat  and  fire  that  stirred  his  heart. 
If  so,  forgive  a  poor  portrait:  he  has  been  dead  these 
two  centuries,  and  his  memory  has  grown  dim.  Ours 
shall  no  doubt  have  grown  as  dim,  or  dimmer,  two  hun- 
dred years  from  now. 

And  so,  with  those  of  the  story,  to  every  one  good 
night. 


BBEU 


fite&«^ 


I 


y^RAfiY 


000  778 


H'^ciLn 


759    7 


